The Wings

Sleep under the piano in your grandfather’s house
On the braided rug and lay his best suit out
As if there’s an art to it, as if you had planned it

In dreams, I’ve taken off my sailor’s crown and I’m in the arms of your dressing gown
But I’ve seen the timbre of your strings
I know you’ve never been one who would wait in the wings – is that still true?

And would it grow if we let it grow?
Darlin, I’m afraid we will never know
There are stories in your eyes, but I know that they are lies – but they are good lies and I fall for them every time
And I still try, I try try try

Sleep under the piano in your grandfather’s house
On the braided rug and lay his best suit out
You’ve seen the barest of me, I hope you’ve taken it to heart