You're my desert, the line between the sky 
and where the world gets solid 
and willing to divide 
I corner you in the bedroom
I find you at the sink
I picture you in the morning
I reach for you in my sleep

I was in love, with the sky it's like a [bad word] 
I was in love, with my window at twilight

In the back room of my memory
Lives a small boy stocking shelves
of numbered periodicals,
and the dreams I don't write down
got a typist on the bottle,
my stock boy only twelve
and dozing in the showroom
my many other selves

I was love with the sound of it all
I was in love, with not knowing, anything at all

I was in love, with the sky it's quite a high
I was in love, with my window at twilight
I was love with the sound of it all
I was in love, with not knowing, anything at all