Two rooms, all alone, where I can be anyone.
I can be the man that gives her a gold ring.
I can be Archangel Michael, slaying the Red Dragon.
I can be whole and good and full of light.
Two rooms, my home, where I dream
And write the words that bleed out poison.
Where I dream of a love that might save me.
Where I fear the death of warmth in humankind.
I can dream my love into my amrs, as I lay in bed,
And make believe there’s anything for me to give her.
I can dream her fingers touching me, her kips kissing me,
Can dream us making love and dreaming on a rainy afternoon.
Two rooms, where I can imagine keeping out death
And the war coming all too soon, and the heartbreak
Of never finding the place where it all makes sense
And they welcome you with open arms, just as you are.
Two rooms, a tiny paradise, that will burn like Eden
In the war coming all too soon.