Sometimes it's very scary here; sometimes it's very sad
Sometimes I think I'll disappear; be_times I think I have
There's a line snaking down my mirror
Splintered glass distorts my face
And though the light is strong and strange
It can't illuminate the musty corners of this place
There is a lofty, lonely, Lohengrenic castle in the clouds
But seven years' dark luck is just around the corner
And in the shadows lurks the spectre of Despair
A cracked mirror mid the drapes of the landing
Split image, labored understanding
I'm only trying to find a place to hide my home
I've lived in houses composed of glass
Where every movement is charted
But now the monitor screens are dark
And I can't tell if silent eyes are there
My words are spiders upon the page
They spin out faith, hope and reason
But are they meet and just, or only dust gathering about my
chair?
Sometimes I get the feeling that there's
Someone else there
The faceless watcher [he] makes me uneasy
I can feel him through the floorboards, and His presence is creepy
He informs me that I shall be expelled
What is that but out of and into
I've lived in houses of brick and lead
Where all emotion is sacred
And if you want to devour the fruit
You must first sniff at the fragrance
And lay your body before the shrine
With poems and posies and papers
Or, if you catch the ruse, you'll have to choose
To stay, a monk, or leave, a vagrant
What is this place you call home?
Is it a sermon or a confession?
Is it the chalice that you use for protection?
Is it really only somewhere you can stay?
Is it a rule-book or a lecture?
Is it a beating at the hands of your Protector?
Does the idol have feet of clay?
Home is what you make it, so my friends all say
But dont't you know I rarely see their homes in these dark days
Some of them are snails and carry houses on their backs
Others live in monuments which, one day, will be racks
I keep my home in place with sellotape and tin-tacks
But I still feel there's some other Force here
He who cracks the mirrors and moves the walls
Keeps staring through the eye-slits of the portraits in my hall
He ravages my library and taps the telephone
I've never actually seen Him
But I know He's in my home
And if he goes away
I can't stay here either
I believe - er - I think - well, I don't know
I only live in one room at a time
I am surrounded by flesh and bone
I am a temple of living
I am a hermit, I am a drone
And I am boning out a place to be
With secret garlands about my head
Unearthly silence is broken
The room is growing dark, and in the stark light
I can see a face I know
Could this be the guy who never shows
The cracked mirror what he's feeling
Merely mumbles prayers to the ground where he's kneeling
Home is home is home is home is home is
House is house is house is] home is me
All you people looking for your houses
Don't throw your weight around, you might break your glasses
And if you do, you know you just can't see
And then how are you to find the dawning of the day?
- Day is just a word I use to keep the dark at bay
And people are imaginary, nothing else exists
Except the room I'm sitting in
And, of course, the all-pervading mist
Sometimes I wonder if even that's real
Maybe I should de-louse this place
Maybe I should de-place this louse
Maybe I'll maybe my life away
In the confines of this silent house
Sometimes it's very scary here; sometimes it's very sad
Sometimes I think I'll disappear; sometimes I think