this cocoon, caught in vesuvius' shadow 
only the ashes remain 
and i waited there for you 
why couldn't you? 
here we lie waiting for something to startle 
to shake us from gravity's pull 
and so sleeping hours are through 
what can we do? 

the sorry conclusion, the low dirty war, it happened before you came to 
but this is solution, and this is amends 
the joke always tends [bad word] [bad word] 
and there on your windowsill over the unmoving platoon 
written in paperback, the view to the quarterback's room 
under waning moon 

this quiet serves only to hide you 
provide you 
what i knew (x2) 
 [bad word] back to you 

take this palm, follow the lines here are written 
tracing the veins and the shapes 
and feel your fingers falling slack and all folding back 

the tainted election, the hole in the sky  [bad word] what is tried, what is [bad word] 
without solution, with feet on the ground 
it won't make a sound 'til you're through 
so loosen your shoulderblades 
this is your hour to make due 
'cause there on the timberline 
deep cold november shines through 
soft and absolute 

this quiet serves only to hide you 
provide you 
what i knew (x2) 
 [bad word] back to you