Lyrics:
It's a still life watercolorOf a now-late afternoonAs the sun shines through the curtained laceAnd shadows wash the roomAnd we sit and drink our coffeeCouched in our indifference, like shells upon the shoreYou can hear the ocean roarIn the dangling conversationAnd the superficial sighsThe borders of our livesAnd you read your Emily DickinsonAnd I my Robert FrostAnd we note our place with book markersThat measure what we've lostLike a poem poorly writtenWe are verses out of rhythmCouplets out of rhymeIn syncopated timeAnd the dangled conversationAnd the superficial sighsAre the borders of our livesYes, we speak of things that matterWith words that must be said'Can analysis be worthwhile?''Is the theater really dead?'And how the room is softly fadedAnd I only kiss your shadow, I cannot feel your handYou're a stranger now unto meLost in the dangling conversationAnd the superficial sighsIn the borders of our lives