See,
it seems to be blue when the light's not pouring through.
Only see the color when the light cuts.
The way a machine doesn't power off,
no director yells, cut.
My life is like a movie, except that it's not.
There is no story, just an endless rolling
ocean,
encircling from every direction,
with demands sent from inspection.
Nobody seems
to know what's going on.
We all just find our way to play it off.
Here comes the punchline,
here comes the grace.
Here comes the part where we go all soft-faced.
Here comes the lesson, here comes the light.
Here comes the beacon in the night.
What were you doing in my song last night,
when you turned the light into a half-bright?
What were you doing heart-breaking half-time?
Here is never your,
still is never mine.
We sing the song from the station that is lost,
on a signal long gone.
And they burn bright
like they're supposed to,
and the face turns right
like it's supposed
to,
and the ash,
and the urn,
thatch
like a grey shoe.
And the song bled out
into the
bedroom.
Here comes the pasture,
here comes the fire.
Here comes the jawline in spotlight.
Here comes the tension,
here comes the hoe.
All on a mayday, the rain flowed.
What were you doing in my song last night,
when you turned the light into a half-bright?
What were you doing heart-breaking half-time?
Here is never your,
still is never mine.
Jimmy,
there's the song where it's the signal that it's all
long gone.