Waltz of the Dearly Beloved

You're my desert the line between the sky

And where the world gets solid

And willing to divide

I corner you in the bedroom

I find you at the sink

I picture you in the morning

I reach for you in my sleep

I was in love with the sky it's like a drug

I was in love with my windshield at twilight

In the back room of my memory

Lives a small boy stocking shelves

Of numbered periodicals

In the dreams I don't write down

Got a typist on the bottle

My stock boy only twelve

And dozing in the showroom

My many other selves

I was in love with the sound of it all

I was in love with not knowing anything at all

I was in love with the sky it's quite a high

I was in love with my windshield at twilight

I was in love with the sound of it all

I was in love with not knowing anything at all