Tiny Escalators - Telephone
текст песни

On the telephone;
Words slipping through your lips
Like silver glistenings on the limbs of fallen trees.
Angel, please...
Speaking easier, for once,
With words have ever been so blunt
And broken—now you know.
This is how it goes, when it goes.

Sleeping endlessly,
And bathing in the dreams of quiet saviors,
Lost and lonesome in the fields;
Almost real…
But washed in waters cold enough to frost their way
Through molten hearts and crack them wide.
Spilling forth truth and lies,
And all else therein resides.
All else therein resides.

Oh, why am I surprised?
To sit here, steaming in that sweat
Of awful gnawings, clawed and fretting
Over hopeless things.
(Or so it seems.)
You’ll have to hurt for every inch
Across the Earth you scratch and claw your way to Holy Ground—
Well, darling, just come on down;
And down.
(I’m sure we’re still around.)

On the telephone,
Trying, frantic, to find meaning
In the scrambled, panicked beatings of a damaged heart—
And there you are.
Staring, ghostly, through the mirror,
But mostly wishing things were clearer.
At least now we know:
This is how it goes, when it goes.