The Writer

You wait for a silence
I wait for a word
Lie next to your frame
Girl unobserved
You change your position
And you are changing me
Casting these shadows
Where they shouldn't be

We're interrupted by the heat of the sun
Trying to prevent what's already begun
You're just a body
I can smell your skin
And when I feel it, you're wearing thin

But I've got a plan
Why don't you be the artist, and make me out of clay?
Why don't you be the writer and decide the words I say?
Because I'd rather pretend
I'll still be there at the end
Only it's too hard to ask won't you try to help me

Sat on your sofa it's all broken springs
This isn't the place for those violin strings
I try out a smile and I aim it at you
You must have missed it
You always do

But I've got a plan
Why don't you be the artist, and make me out of clay?
Why don't you be the writer and decide the words I say?
Because I'd rather pretend
I'll still be there at the end
Only it's too hard to ask won't you try to help me

You wait, I wait, casting shadows, interrupted
You wait, I wait, casting shadows

Why don't you be the artist; and make me out of clay (and make me out of clay)
Why don't you be the writer and decide the words I say (and decide the words I say)
Because I'd rather pretend
I'll still be there at the end
Only it's too hard to ask won't you try to help me

Why don't you be the artist and make me out of clay?
Why don't you be the writer and decide the words I say?
'Cause I'd rather pretend
I'll still be there at the end
Only it's too hard to ask won't you try to help me