Writers Are A Funny Breed — текст песни (Jane Siberry)

It is very quiet here--so still
I don`t live here--I live down the hill
On this winter`s afternoon
The distant sun--it slowly swings the room around
This room hangs on a golden chain
Suspended
Frozen
Frozen in time since you went away

Walking through your rooms I though your things
Fitting--these aren`t fingers these are wings
It says April on your calendar
It`s winter now--I wonder where you are
I hope it`s warm and sunny--or cold and windy
As long as you`re fine

Your house is as tumble-down as mine
Crumpled papers everywhere like mine
This one says I`ll write no more
That one says don`t lock the door
Writers are a funny breed
I should know

You said someday when we`re pure and high
We won`t need to capture and describe
The things we see or don`t see
We`ll let things be
Let things be
That`s when you`d leave

And that is why I had to come today
My mad scribbling crumpled, crippled, fey
Tossing words from ledges that erode
From ledges--I am not a goat
I am not a piece of chalk
I just want to do it right like you

And now I stand here in your house
Everything`s so still
I wonder if I`ll write again
Or let things be
Writers are a funny breed