I dreamed you were a cosmonaut   of the space between our chairs   and I was a cartographer   of the tangles in your hair      I sighed a song that silence brings   it's the one that everybody knows   oh everybody knows   the song that silence sings   and this was how it goes      these looms that weave apocrypha   they're hanging from a strand   these dark and empty rooms were full   of incandescent hands      an awkward pause   a fatal flaw   time, it's a crooked bow   oh time's a crooked bow      in time you need to learn to love   the ebb just like the flow      grab hold of your bootstraps   and pull like hell,   'til gravity feels sorry for you,   and lets you go      as if you lack the proper chemicals to know   the way it felt the last time you let yourself   fall this low   time   oh time   it's a crooked bow   time's a crooked bow      fifty-five and three-eighths years later   at the bottom of this gigantic crater   an armchair calls to you   yeah, this armchair calls to you   and it says that   some day   we'll get back at them all   with epoxy and a pair of pliers   as ancient sea slugs begin to crawl   through the ragweed and barbed wire      you didn't write, you didn't call   it didn't cross your mind at all   and through the waves   the waves of a.m. squall   you couldn't feel a thing at all   you're fifty-five and three-eighths tall   fifty-five and three-eighths tall