Where do I begin
Do I start, stop, or quit
I’m grasping for twigs but they’re burnt up for kindling
The dust, it settles down
I kick it up but then I sit back down
I’m hungry for a change
How do you tell when it’s different
How can you tell if it’s different
From the writer’s pen or the lover’s bed
It comes from what I did and what I said
I’m faded but not burnt out, just evaporated clouds
Seeded by the Fall, the copycat fools us all
He’ll follow me through the woods until I’m run down for good
And climb upon my lap to fall asleep there at last
He’ll fall asleep there at last
With the writer’s pen in the lover’s bed
It’s in what I did and what I said
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