Armchairs - Andrew Bird

I dreamed you were a cosmonaut
of the space between our chairs and I was a cartographer
of the tangles in your hair
I sighed a song that silence brings
it's the one that everybody knows
oh everybody knows
the song that silence sings
and this was how it goesthese looms that weave apocryphal
they're hanging from a strandthese dark and empty rooms were fullof incandescent hands
and awkward pausea fatal flaw
time it's a crooked bowoh time's a crooked bowin time you need to learn to love
the ebb just like the flow
grab hold of your bootstraps
and pull like hell‘till gravity feels sorry for you
and lets you go
as if you lack the proper chemicals to know the way it felt the last time you let yourself
fall this low
time oh time
it's a crooked bow
time's a crooked bow