There's a shadow in the door-frame
With a hunger for the highway
The poison from the bee sting
The mirrors on the ceiling
The thunder and the lightning
The hibernating heart sings out
And I shake the hand of the seamstress
Pinning up the clouds like patches
A little bit blue around the edges
Hanging all the quilts from the ceilings
Another room, another day, another season
Another feeling
Another reason to call me a liar
Standing in the park beside the fire
Stepping over lines that I had drawn there
There's a quiet conversation
A discarded invitation
A statue on the fountain
A molehill on the mountain
A river through the kitchen
We're swimming in basement now
And I met the ghost in the mirror
Gave me quite a fright but I came nearer
Told me all his secrets in a whisper
And I had my palm read by the psychic weather reporter
Said he was a wicked fortune-teller
Gazing at the glowing teleprompter
