Passing through the scene of the crime
I was an acorn, a useless glow in the dark night
But something glued my face to the floor
I was a stop sign
A fruit tree, a posture or a figure of speech
But crawling around I felt the world with my fingers
The ground shaking with the notion that something here lingers
And he wakes up, and he finds himself on the floor
With the dirt and the spread out sheets, the unfinished business
He rises and for a while he laughs to himself
Then congratulates the body on having been alive
In the quiet hour he touches the face with the fingers
Pressing down with his thumb, see the white mark that lingers
And the hallway will ring out with the sound of music
A little dance and a beautiful glow in the dark night

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