(Jack Bruce and Pete Brown)
|
In the white room with black curtains near the station.
|
Black-roof country, no gold pavements, tired starlings.
|
Silver horses run down moonbeams in your dark eyes.
|
Dawn-light smiles on you leaving, my contentment.
|
|
I'll wait in this place where the sun never shines;
|
Wait in this place where the shadows run from themselves.
|
|
You said no strings could secure you at the station.
|
Platform ticket, restless diesels, goodbye windows.
|
I walked into such a sad time at the station.
|
As I walked out, felt my own need just beginning.
|
|
I'll wait in the queue when the trains come back;
|
Lie with you where the shadows run from themselves.
|
|
At the party she was kindness in the hard crowd.
|
Consolation for the old wound now forgotten.
|
Yellow tigers crouched in jungles in her dark eyes.
|
She's just dressing, goodbye windows, tired starlings.
|
|
I'll sleep in this place with the lonely crowd;
|
Lie in the dark where the shadows run from themselves.
|
|
-----------------
|
White Room
|
Cream |