The heat switches between the rooms
From the front of the house, to the back
And on the bed, your curled form is laid
I'm watching the sky as it cries in the street
Blowing my nose and counting the people
They all carry bags of food to their cars
Filled with treats and sweet desserts
All insults to the hunger pains in my chest

As I move to the kitchen, you stir for a second
This day is turning dark in the light from the loft
Shadows dance on your face, from the candles you lit
By the stove, I pause to warm my head and hands
Not sure what to do next, because I don't want to wake you
So I sit back at the window and take up my book
There are no new words to read, I place it back
If only the story would change of its own accord

I really think it's time for movement
For the raising of the silence, letting the music in
Just some small tune to warm this room
And your sweet progression of chords to kiss my ears
I lie down beside you and cup your face
Whisper some sickly greeting as you focus up on me
Come on love, we should make a song
You are the music and I am the words
You are the music and I am the words
We should make a song, my love
We should make a song
You are the music and I am the words
You are the prettiest music
And I am the most grateful words
 

(2004, dedicated to Ruth)