I’ve never been much of a writer, the way you or she would have me be
But where we venture when the dream begins, I will take you on that journey
To the land beyond where maps are made, to where thoughts remain unspoken
In the depths of wells that now run dry, we will wait together broken
You don’t have a poor aunt
Give me something I don’t understand, and I’ll gladly dive in blindly
Passing through the wall’s illusion, to turn my will upon you kindly
In the peace where only death resides, once again I see you smiling
You don’t have a poor aunt
Of your own
So who’s this on my back, I don’t know
Will you leave your skin so easily?
Will you let it fall about you?
Fainter than the smallest sound that from the throat emerges
Solid as the sway of time, now in the air suspended
You don’t have a poor aunt
Of your own
So who’s this on my back, I don’t know
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