| Is it because I cannot see you
|
| That you feel so free to steal
|
| My excess baggage full of darkness and despair
|
| While I fumble with my locks
|
| You’re content to stand and knock
|
| Yet I know your knack for thievery is rare
|
| Do you know they call it arson
|
| Setting fires without permission
|
| In my heart for sure and maybe elsewhere too
|
| Though your lack of inhibition
|
| Captures my imagination
|
| I end up a wiser person thanks to you
|
| It’s coming to fruition
|
| The sympathetic vibration
|
| Your train is at my station
|
| Within without
|
| Then there is your flare for murder
|
| There’s a dagger in the border
|
| Of your cloak and I suspect a captain’s gun
|
| As you put to death suspicions
|
| Kindly kill my fears as well
|
| Exorcise and slay the demons one by one
|
| Though I’m usually pacifistic
|
| You are mercifully sadistic
|
| And I didn’t know that murder could be good
|
| But the roses came crimson
|
| Springing from the prison
|
| Of the floorboards where there once were stains of blood
|
| It’s coming to fruition
|
| The sympathetic vibration
|
| Your train is at my station
|
| Within without
|
| It’s calming my suspicion
|
| With soothing intuition
|
| Your train is at my station
|
| Within without
|
| Within without
|
| Within without
|
| Within without |