Sphericolor

No one said I was not at fault Still I don't like your turn of phrase I am steadfast in staying up At the wind fit to stir a stone A new finger has opened up The smallest wounds will never close I've got one block to walk tonight And rotate in the atmosphere Orphan welters and dreams what to sell her His body grows warmer as morning grows distant His sword has been frozen half-cocked in its scabbard He's fallen in her flowers Who lives on top of this most perfect staircase? Whose hips well-loved enough to wander these halls? Who does their washing without paying for the privilege? Who watches graveyard fireworks from the roof? Who calls the tendril from inside the burner? Who got the spiders to start pulling their weight? Who shuts their window in the silence of darkness? Who lives on top of this most perfect staircase? Hot air cold floor I would like to be emptier Let you thru not just let you in And keep feeling your tendrils grow Up from the floor and thru my back Sorry I do not have a bell You'll have to shout when you're outside Nothing but lights strung thru these halls To mine the air for healthy dust Orphan swelters and dreams what to tell her The sun isn't rising must be daylight savings They've hung up his sword on the wall of his bedroom But not his old bedroom