Even yesterday has gone away
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Has tomorrow ever come
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Will next week last forever
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How come it's funny but it's not fun
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Have the fingers slipped, has time been cut
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Has the face misled the eye
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Break the glass let me out of here
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Why doesn't six come after five
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Turning, turning round and round
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My feet are burning
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How come they don't touch the ground
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I play a game on the paving stones
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The cracks seem so small to me
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I suddenly shrink and meet some insect friends
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And need binoculars to see across what now is wide to me
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They close the doors on another train
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The windows dirty as the floor
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You can play games with your reflections
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But I don't do that anymore
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I got up to leave
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But something I couldn't see--stopped me
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How Come They Don't Touch the Ground
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| Marty Willson-Piper |
