Well I have no objections dear. You've gone and made it proper clear that you can will a fog to bend by blowing in its tender ear. You've pressed a powder, paper thin, and let the neighbors wander in; they've kept a hand in your affairs, and raised a glass to watch you swim. Now I won't hold my tongue, but I'll speak warmly when they come. So wrap your lips around a song, a plank to throw your thoughts upon; I never saw you off to keep a quiet house with curtains drawn. They're sure to wait and greet the day you scatter ink across the page, and what I wouldn't give to keep you as far as far can be arranged. High above the chandolier, ceiling tiles and attic walls, the most that i can hope to hear will shatter as a window falls. And what she knows, she does not show; she shuts the door on all our calls.