I've been staring at your ceiling
While fixated on days that aren't today
Well you notice things like ambiguous seasons
They don't change like they do in the iron states
Spinning 'spiderland'
The winning hand, still planning to fold
Exchange present times for the past that you want

But you breathe same air
The calm nights and riots, the overnight plans
When you didn't seem too curious, way back then
But it's boiling in me up again
New review of old days
Whatever happened? What changed?
Was it any other way?
The cards are shuffled up and dealt

No place to stand
And I am ashamed of keeping you up at night
Turning off lights without talking
And nodding off to symphonies
Or songs from coltrane
I'll try not to make a sound in my sleep
Self-inflict for fun
Bottom bottle, keep it down
Just like when you bite down on your tongue

You're underneath the wheel
You're saddling up and arriving there
Bad timing, your history covers decades you won't see
Been told to write down, been told the right sound
No place to stand, the winning hand