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Robinson
This Is The Glasshouse
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…… I was born Covered mossy, mouldy, torn Falling headfirst into war In spring the light stays A little longer than before Unnotable by day But you can feel it when it's gone …… If only you could say it now The things your tongue could tell to me The poems your eyes could write out And burned in effigy Though I am old 50 years since I touched ground I can scarcely hear your sound But in another life Long lost brothers? Into a vision Streetlight by streetlight Tangled by antlers and wires Could it be different This time, this time? From a dream about the sound of your call I awoke in fever for the cull In fall the lights dim a little darker than before Remarkable to most, although I've seen it all before And when I'm out of things to dream of I pretend to be somebody else I pretend to be a person Anything I tell myself And if you could run away, how beautiful you'd look When the frame betrays the mind Undoing what was untold 50 Years of watching people But it's you I've watched the most No tongue, no force to tell you Tell you the only thing I know …… But in another life Long lost brothers? Into a vision Streetlight by streetlight Tangled by antlers and wires Could it be different This time, this time? ……
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