Pulling myself apart
Is quite an art
Sometimes too easy
At times, a piece might fall
And I won't recall
Where the streets are leading

I'm always running into myself
Or someone else
In some strange reaction
It's alright, but what's the thrill?
I've had my fill
Of chromatic passion

When I closed my eyes
Her face just passed me by
And each crowded room
Became an empty sigh
And I wondered if I died
She said: no, you're only dreaming

Moving like sheets of glass
And the scenes all clash
In the twilight window
So I turned, and looked away
But the spark remains
In the view that follows