There was a hush inside the air
 When you were lying on the stairs
 Feeling the world had scattered there
 Like little feathers on the air

 And as the people filed away
 The men in suits of black and gray
 Each with his hands inside his coat
 Each with that hush inside his throat 

 And this concrete cold
 And this [bad word] control
 And the drops of blood in the shaving bowl
 Are the lovely things
 Bright and hovering
 That can pull you up
 With a thousand wings
 Let me through

 They're thinking, "How did we arrive?
 Was it by fortune or design?
 Or was there something else in mind?
 Let there be something else in mind"