Fog on her glasses
From the still steaming tea,
A book in her hand As she casually reads.
A catch in her breath.
As the Climax grows near,
She’s deaf to the world:
The book’s all she can hear.
She’s completely lost now,
Or perhaps she is found In this strange paper world
That’s far from the ground.
Fog on her glasses
From the still steaming tea
A book in her hand
As she casually reads.
A catch in her breath.
As the Climax grows near,
She’s deaf to the world:
The book’s all she can hear.
She’s completely lost now,
Or perhaps she is found
In this strange paper world,
That’s far from the ground.
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