You're a closed book,
and I can't read your meaning
Written in your sullen look,
as you stand up
there screaming
And I lie awake wondering
talking in my head
Is it real,
is any of it more than me?
Or am I a dead man walking?
There's a dreadful fish,
and through
my blood-stream swimming,
Whispering your written words,
the worst of which
I'm dreaming,
and I stand and raise
an empty glass to
your wisdom unexplained
Is it real,
is any of it more than me?
Have the words
and letters changed?
There's a reason well that
we don't turn your pages
Locked up in your chosen hell,
you've rolled the rock of ages
And we turn and face a camera
with the focus ever shifting
Is it real,
is any of it more than me?
Are we more than
lost souls drifting?
At least I came, didn't I?
And I was there, wasn't I?
And now I'm here, aren't I?
And what more can you look for
In these eyes, in these eyes,
in these eyes of mine?
So I lie awake wondering
And I turn and face a camera
and I stand
and raise an empty glass
So I lie awake wondering,
talking in my head
Is it real,
is any of it more than me?
Or am I dead man walking?
