Empty Room

And then a pigeon hits my window pane A watercolour spider spins a gossamer frame Here in my room Where nothing moves A maniacal postman sets his morning round ablaze Here in my room When nothing changed It can happen, make it happen here Can you feel it? Walking round the cemetery feeling quite nice Written on a tombstone is ‘get a life.’ I prefer it in my room Where nothing moves The phantom of a little boy stuck in a tree I retreat to my room Enough reality It can happen, make it happen here Can you feel it? Said the man in the same grey flannel suit ‘Can you feel it?’ And the woman in the swimsuit And all the women of the institute Are on the ceiling, singing ‘I can feel it.’