Tiffany lamps in the windows
Linen fragrance in the diffusers
Skin and bone in the trousers
Where might my mind be going
What is to be the contemplation
Now the mood is set and the music plays
I honestly don’t have any explanation
I don’t know if I ever do have
So, one step at a time, I keep going
The search is not for direction
Although a tune or two would be good
Some sort of guidance for the writing
If instead left to struggle
Working without a working light
Working out without working
I honestly can’t say
In truth I never was told
Or so the story goes
