For Chris

thunder comes but once a year

and lightning comes but twice

the man who's watching from your ceiling hole

is really just the mice

the ghosts of words and songs you never wrote,

or at least forgot to write down

your hand was halted by a single silent sound.





fireworks in the dead of night

followed by the rising sun

and when a thousand songs play randomly,

you hear just the one,

you need to find a bit of clarity,

again trust the red tatoo,

and see that after all maybe someone dosen't have it in for you.





'cause the bells you think are beautiful

are ringing just the same

your not the hunchback that you thought you were

'cause you have your own name

and even if there ins a tiny crack,

you have the skill to weld

and when it's done you'll again

hold the ropes you held





and even though it's twine

youv'e got six hundred strands together

in a straight line

straight into the dirt and down the desolate path

to the middle of the damp earth

eating your way through hell

to sell the devil back his suprise:

a muscle disease and a big barrel of wine





you know i just can't stand to see

you float away into the sea

'cause i know you could be a sailor

and it's just temporary i guess

the forces are at work here

that we both know all to well

from the beach i'll call you back home

with my shell.





and together on the sand

we'll cast away the paw you got

when everything started turning sour

and you lost all your luck

and the ocean it will break the spell

you will finally be free...

when you wake up tomorrow morning you will see.