This cocoon, caught in Vesuvius' shadow   Only the ashes remain   And I waited there for you   Why couldn't you?      Here we lie waiting for something to startle   To shake us from gravity's pull   And so sleeping hours are through   What can we do?      The sorry conclusion, the low dirty war   It happened before you came to   But this is solution, and this is amends   The joke always tends to come true   And there on your windowsill over the unmoving platoon   Written in paperback, the view to the quarterback's room   Under waning moon      This quiet serves only to hide you   Provide you   What I knew; It'd come back to you      Take this palm, follow the lines here are written   Tracing the bends and the shapes   And feel your fingers falling slack and all folding back      The tainted election, the hole in the sky   Command what is tried, what is true   Without solution, with feet on the ground   Tt won't make a sound 'til you're through   So loosen your shoulderblades   This is your hour to make due   Because there on the timberline   Deep cold November shines through   Soft and absolute      This quiet serves only to hide you   Provide in you   What I knew; It'd come back to you.