| If language were liquid it would be rushing in
|
| Instead here we are
|
| In a silence more eloquent than any word could ever be
|
| These words are too solid
|
| They don’t move fast enough
|
| To catch the blur in the brain that flies by
|
| And is gone and is gone
|
| And is gone, gone
|
| Gone, gone and is gone
|
| I’d like to meet you in a timeless, placeless place
|
| Somewhere out of context
|
| And beyond all consequences
|
| Let’s go back to the building
|
| (Words are too solid)
|
| On little West Twelfth
|
| (They don’t move fast enough)
|
| It is not far away
|
| And the river is there
|
| And the sun and the spaces
|
| Are all laying low
|
| (To catch the blur in the brain)
|
| And we’ll sit in the silence
|
| (That flies by and is gone)
|
| That comes rushing in and is gone
|
| And is gone, gone
|
| Gone, gone and is gone
|
| I won’t use words again
|
| They don’t mean what I meant
|
| They don’t say what I said
|
| They’re just the crust of the meaning with realms underneath
|
| Never touched, never stirred
|
| Never even moved through
|
| If language were liquid it would be rushing in
|
| Instead here we are
|
| In a silence more eloquent than any word could ever be
|
| And is gone, gone, gone, gone
|
| And is gone and is gone and is gone
|
| And is gone, gone, gone and is gone and is gone |