There's a shadow in the door-frame 
With a hunger for the highway 
The poison from the bee sting 
The mirrors on the ceiling 
The thunder and the lightning 
The hibernating heart sings out 
And I shake the hand of the seamstress 
Pinning up the clouds like patches 
little bit blue around the edges 
Hanging all the quilts from the ceilings 
Another room, another day, another season 
Another feeling 
Another reason to call me a liar 
Standing in the park beside the fire 
Stepping over lines that I had drawn there 

There's a quiet conversation 
discarded invitation 
statue on the fountain 
molehill on the mountain 
river through the kitchen 
We're swimming in basement now 
And I met the ghost in the mirror 
Gave me quite a fright but I came nearer 
Told me all his secrets in a whisper 
And I had my palm read by the psychic weather reporter 
Said he was a wicked fortune-teller 
Gazing at the glowing teleprompter