There's a shadow in the door-frame

With a hunger for the highway

The poison from the bee sting

The mirrors on the ceiling

The thunder and the lightning

The hibernating heart sings out

And I shake the hand of the seamstress

Pinning up the clouds like patches

A little bit blue around the edges

Hanging all the quilts from the ceilings

Another room, another day, another season

Another feeling

Another reason to call me a liar

Standing in the park beside the fire

Stepping over lines that I had drawn there

There's a quiet conversation

A discarded invitation

A statue on the fountain

A molehill on the mountain

A river through the kitchen

We're swimming in basement now

And I met the ghost in the mirror

Gave me quite a fright but I came nearer

Told me all his secrets in a whisper

And I had my palm read by the psychic weather reporter

Said he was a wicked fortune-teller

Gazing at the glowing teleprompter