| Your self-effacing charms are shot
|
| Wake up now to what you are
|
| And what you’re not
|
| You can run, run, run
|
| But you can’t escape
|
| Taste is sharp like mustard seed
|
| Finding out that what you want is not what you need
|
| You can talk, talk, talk
|
| But the words aren’t clear
|
| When your straightedge line curves
|
| And obscures all that you see
|
| When your sure-shot sight blurs
|
| You can come to me
|
| It’s too late now, your fun’s been had
|
| Your shining, blinding myriad burned-out
|
| And fell down, down down
|
| To the ground
|
| Live like flower, light like stone
|
| You’re calling friends but now you find
|
| You’re on your own
|
| And they’re gone, gone, gone
|
| With the morning light
|
| When the black-cloud sky rains
|
| On your ragged company
|
| When your thoughts slip from their chains
|
| You can come to me
|
| (You can come to me) |