Armchairs

I dreamed you were a cosmonaut
 Of the space between our chairs
 And I was a cartographer
 Of the tangles in your hair
 I sighed a song that silence brings
 It's the one that everybody knows
 Oh everybody knows
 The song that silence sings
 And this was how it goes
 ♪
 These looms that weave apocryphal
 They're hanging from a strand
 These dark and empty rooms were full
 Of incandescent hands
 Awkward pause
 A fatal flaw
 Time, it's a crooked bow
 Oh, time's a crooked bow
 In time you need to learn to love
 The ebb just like the flow
 Grab hold of your bootstraps
 Oh and pull like hell
 'Til gravity feels sorry for you
 And lets you go
 As if you lack the proper chemicals to know
 The way it felt the last time you let yourself
 Fall this low
 Time
 Time
 It's a crooked bow
 Time's a crooked bow
 Time's a crooked bow
 ♪
 Fifty-five and three–eighths years later
 At the bottom of this gigantic crater
 An armchair calls to you
 Yeah this armchair calls to you
 And it says that
 Some day
 We'll get back at them all
 With epoxy and a pair of pliers
 As ancient sea slugs begin to crawl
 Through the ragweed and barbed wire
 You didn't write, you didn't call
 It didn't cross your mind at all
 And through the waves
 The waves of a.m. squall
 You couldn't feel a thing at all
 You're fifty-five and three-eighths tall
 Time
 You're fifty-five and three-eighths tall
 Time