Maybe When Your Mother Died

It Is Really Hard To Be Lonely Very Long In A World Of Words. Even If You Don't Have Friends Somewhere, You Still Have Language, And It Will Find You And Wrap Its Little Syllables Around You And Suddenly There Will Be A Story To Live In.

I'm Like The Weather, Never Really Can Predict When This Rain Cloud's Gonna Burst; When It's The High Or It's The Low, When You Might Need A Light Jacket. Sometimes I'm The Slush That Sticks To The Bottom Of Your Work Pants, But I Can Easily Be The Melting Snowflakes Clinging To Your Long Lashes. I Know That Some People Like: Sunny And Seventy-five, Sunny And Seventy-five, Sunny And Seventy-five, But You Take Me As I Am And Never Forget To Pack An Umbrella.

If Someday, In A Morning, You See You, In A Mirror Or The Dent Of A Spoon, And Wonder Where Is My Soul And Where Has It Gone, Remember This: Catch The Gaze Of A Woman On The Metro, Subway, Tram. Look At A Man. Seek And You Will Find You In The Silvered Space, A Flash Between Souls.

We Start Out As Little Bits Of Disconnected Dust.

Like Our Parents Always Told Us Not To Like Firefighters Warn Against We're Playing Games And Making The Rules Up As We Go We're Matching Warmth To Warmth Starting Fires Burning Wishes Into Our Skin We're Hidden Holding Forbidden Lights We're Children Whose Fathers Have Never Taught Never Touch But We're Finding These New Flames We Smother At The Sound Of Footsteps.