Cocoon

The Decemberists

This cocoon, caught in vesuvius' shadow 
Only the ashes remain 
And I waited there for you 
Why couldn't you? 
Here we lie waiting for something to startle 
To shake us from gravity's pull 
And so the sleeping hours are through 
What can we do? 

The tainted election, the low dirty war, it happened before you came to 
But this is solution, and this is amends 
The joke always tends to come true 
But there on your windowsill over the unmoving platoon 
Written in paperback, the key to the quarterback's room 
Under waning moon 

This quiet serves only to hide you 
Provide you 
What I knew: it'd come back to you 

Take this palm, follow the lines here are written 
And script out the rest of your life 
And feel your fingers falling slack and all folding back 

The sorry coclusion, the hole in the sky 
Command what is tried, what is true 
But without solution, with feet on the ground 
It won't make a sound 'til you're through 
So loosen your shoulderblades 
This is your hour to make due 
Because there on the timberline 
Deep cold november shines through 
Soft and absolute