Parisean Floor      I sat on a floor   a Parisean floor   the loneliest time of the year      The unwelcome guest   I watch her undress   the loneliest time of the year      Stoned on the couch    having visions of art   checkered eyes pink cones in snow      Alone on the couch   deciding to start   off something but really dont know      A picture of Jesus   in a wrinkled cloth   the room has turned bigger than it was before   I wouldnt know what    to do with it now   maybe just keep a close eye on the door      We drove thru the night   the new pounding night   branches grown out of my spine   the beat wakes the dead   the clouds around your head   are secretly strangely aligned      A picture of Jesus   in a wrinkled cloth   the owner of fires and hurricanes   Has he come here to see    what is left of me yet   Has he come here to watch    as I float down the drain      What would you do If he loved me   What would you do to me then   What would you do if you loved me   again      Its too late to think   Its to late to sleep   to late for it all Im afraid   The traffic below   the sound fades and grows   its all now that needs to be said      ...