The Writer

You wait for a silence

I wait for a word

Lie next to your frame

Girl unobserved

You change your position

And you are changing me

Casting these shadows

Where they shouldn't be

We're interrupted by the heat of the sun

Trying to prevent what's already begun

You're just a body

I can smell your skin

And when I feel it, you're wearing thin

But I've got a plan

Why don't you be the artist, and make me out of clay?

Why don't you be the writer and decide the words I say?

Because I'd rather pretend

I'll still be there at the end

Only it's too hard to ask won't you try to help me

Sat on your sofa it's all broken springs

This isn't the place for those violin strings

I try out a smile and I aim it at you

You must have missed it

You always do

But I've got a plan

Why don't you be the artist, and make me out of clay?

Why don't you be the writer and decide the words I say?

Because I'd rather pretend

I'll still be there at the end

Only it's too hard to ask won't you try to help me

You wait, I wait, casting shadows, interrupted

You wait, I wait, casting shadows

Why don't you be the artist; and make me out of clay (and make me out of clay)

Why don't you be the writer and decide the words I say (and decide the words I say)

Because I'd rather pretend

I'll still be there at the end

Only it's too hard to ask won't you try to help me

Why don't you be the artist and make me out of clay?

Why don't you be the writer and decide the words I say?

'Cause I'd rather pretend

I'll still be there at the end

Only it's too hard to ask won't you try to help me