In the mouth of an old mansion
Dust is whirling in the light
Walls are whispering out of rhyme
Once it was crowded here and I
Hear their prayers in the night
Someone's scared, someone runs
Through the garden, in the pines
Now we know the smell of time
As I crouch in the bed
A low sun's peering through the lids
Playing chess on your back
Can I play? Should I play?
Otherwise… otherwise…
Lay a finger on your skin
Trace a line
Trace a line
Secret threads are now bounded
In the shade
In the shade
Spy the curve of your chin
And I see the wild angel of our youth
Is it the wild heart of life…?
Or… or…