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There's a shadow in the door-frame With a hunger for the highway The poison from the bee sting The mirrors on the ceiling The thunder and the lightning The hibernating heart sings out And I shake the hand of the seamstress Pinning up the clouds like patches A little bit blue around the edges Hanging all the quilts from the ceilings Another room, another day, another season Another feeling Another reason to call me a liar Standing in the park beside the fire Stepping over lines that I had drawn there There's a quiet conversation A discarded invitation A statue on the fountain A molehill on the mountain A river through the kitchen We're swimming in basement now And I met the ghost in the mirror Gave me quite a fright but I came nearer Told me all his secrets in a whisper And I had my palm read by the psychic weather reporter Said he was a wicked fortune-teller Gazing at the glowing teleprompter