Passing through the scene of the crime I was an acorn, a useless glow in the dark night But something glued my face to the floor I was a stop sign A fruit tree, a posture or a figure of speech But crawling around I felt the world with my fingers The ground shaking with the notion that something here lingers And he wakes up, and he finds himself on the floor With the dirt and the spread out sheets, the unfinished business He rises and for a while he laughs to himself Then congratulates the body on having been alive In the quiet hour he touches the face with the fingers Pressing down with his thumb, see the white mark that lingers And the hallway will ring out with the sound of music A little dance and a beautiful glow in the dark night