There's a light on the floor Shows your just out the door In a Russian film we belong like a gentle jolt of montage where the mis-en-scene flies back and forth into your eyes.
I can hear you writing I read between the lines I can hear you writing in pictographic signs
There are shadows on the wall in the caves where trains crawl We can cut our indirect hearts when the edits keep us apart When the acetate lies in the darkness of our eyes.
All of these memories collide this is the medium tonight you and me editing time.
I can hear you writing I read between the lines I can hear you writing in pictographic signs
