In the arms of Cephisus
I meant to tell you what it was on my mind I meant to tell you what I found in your looks I meant to tell you what I heard in the songs I meant to tell you what I think it’s about The pounding song coming from the piano It is what the young men expect to cure their heads Their poor heads, full of disease, full of thought I can’t admit that I trusted in my thoughts Ever, for good or for bad And I can’t admit I ever knew what was good for me Let alone you But I’ve always been good in an emergency But I don’t think you ever expected me to emerge Into the great son of Pomp And I don’t think you expected me to be called Anywhere near the time that I was But you know I was always true, like the vibration of gravity And I become the Daffodil to you didn’t I? I become the blood of Narcissus You know I meant to tell you so much Maybe you can hear my words through Echo? I meant to tell you of all the anticipation I held in my heart I thought it would burst I meant to tell you that a heart could