Sound of a Lock
By myself, I'm unsure if you're real
or something I conjured in thirst
I want to figure out just what I feel
but perhaps you'd better touch me first
(cause sometimes I talk in my sleep)
grab out for you under deep
Tell me, will you vanish backward fading
from the touch of my sandy finger on your forehead?
those sand grains, melting changing
each single orb falls land of the dead
This prison glass in front of me
and bars all around
my little metal grating lets in the sound
my hard mat at night
and I think of you alone
all these gray colors make me want to go home
Now you've got to say why you want me
what could you possibly see?
your nice hand is resting on my mirror
look in hard and find what you can be
(maybe you can be it without me)
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