I’m tired of being reasonable
I’m tired of waiting for
Some sign of the old land
To wash up on the shore

In the city’s afternoon
Behind the buildings a white moon
Watched us look for a room that night
But we could not find a room

The key to you ever since we met
Is that you don’t lock any doors
I’m climbing up your snowy steps
My shoes on the wet wood floor

She’s in the shower, I hear the pipes creaking
Groaning like the traffic outside
She comes down and sits next to me
My mouth was open wide

Your picture is a portrait
The portrait’s never done
I don’t know how it got here
But I know where it’s from