The Request Book

Banging at My Door

I'm standing in my parlour and drinking to you
I've got nothing better than doing this to do.
I've been working all day at forgetting this task
I can think about it while I drink from my flask.
The way the sun's shone on me I'm melting like glass
And there is nothing left with us to come to pass
You've been banging at my door for days now, my dear.
But I've got up too slowly to answer I fear.

There's nothing in my mind you don't know how to read
I cannot take a breath where you can't draw a bead.
And while I'm in this self-made darkened lonesome stall
I've no fear of the things that might become us all
Because there's nothing left the universe won't say
And there are no things that can't wait another day
And I do not know how to teach you otherwise
Or if I should, based on what I hear in your sighs.

The choices I am making are controlling me
And from the shackles I've lived in, they set me free
There's nothing I can say that will make me unique
But I'll be content to live the role of the freak
I'll never come to terms without another look
Into the old soul of the one who wrote the book
And if I did know how, I don't know if I would
Or better yet, whether or not I really should

This forest walk is soothing the soles of my feet
While I can scarce recall the summer and its heat
And deeper in the woods the spirit gently calls
Where I would gladly sit until the last leaf falls
Without or with the thing that firmly makes the bond
I'll patiently stand here until my roots turn blond
And in that place where you pin things right to the wood
It's not for me to say it would do you some good.

I'm standing in my parlour and drinking to you
There's nothing in my way that might obstruct the view
It's better if you don't come by; I'll have a few
While I work up the nerve to say good night to you.