A four wall room is one thing, br But when just your face rocks the world br How does a beating heart stay still? br When your face is etched into the sun br Making it so bright as to burn the skin br How can I possibly hope to dream? br Endless cups of tea and cigarettes br Mark out points in time like beacons in a wasteland. br Each one pointing onwards, forwards br To a place of fertility. br But when time and space conspire against you br How does one possibly hope to remain within the race? br When strength of feeling is not enough, br When mutual embrace unfolds, br When life moves on without love, br How then do we live within ourselves? br A four wall room is one thing, br But an empty bed is quite another.