You're a closed book, and I can't read your meaning
Written in your sullen look, as you stand up there screaming
And I lie awake wondering talking in my head
Is it real, is any of it more than me?
Or am I a dead man walking?
There's a dreadful fish, and through my blood-stream swimming,
Whispering your written words, the worst of which I'm dreaming,
and I stand and raise an empty glass to your wisdom unexplained
Is it real, is any of it more than me?
Have the words and letters changed?
There's a reason well that we don't turn your pages
Locked up in your chosen hell, you've rolled the rock of ages
And we turn and face a camera with the focus ever shifting
Is it real, is any of it more than me?
Are we more than lost souls drifting?
At least I came, didn't I?
And I was there, wasn't I?
And now I'm here, aren't I?
And what more can you look for
In these eyes, in these eyes, in these eyes of mine?
So I lie awake wondering
And I turn and face a camera
and I stand and raise an empty glass
So I lie awake wondering, talking in my head
Is it real, is any of it more than me? Or am I dead man walking?