63

Here I have to make do without stories
I'm left with traces, impressions
what's all been thrown together
higgedly-piggedly
(tohu-bohu)
my voice when I call you
brings your face to me
tomorrow we'll walk the garden
tomorrow we'll wait and see
we know natural's not in it
we're just the copies of the copies
but we love to see the mist rise in the valley
we too are just so suspended
and we'll wait as long as it takes to wait
as long as it takes for the wait to take place
as long as it takes for 'I do.'