There's a kind of comfort in the whirring of a fan,
The dimmed studio lights and turning counters.
The soundproofing a barrier to the hostile world outside,
It can carry on without us
But out there it's changing by the instant
And I'm in here on my own.
I kid myself that you are in here with me,
And you're speaking through me now,
That evrything I do in here's for "US" not just for me
but I never could quite explain how
The room is empty,, or, the room is full
Inspiration comes and goes.... but
In the end we became each others tea-break
Togetherness was just supposed.
And inside I just never could see that
But out here it just seems so clear.

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