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.’