Armchair Apocryphists

I dreamed you were a cosmonaut
Of the space between our chairs
And I was a cartographer
Of the tangles in your hairI sang the song that silence brings
It's the one that everybody knows, everybody knows
The song that silence sings
And this, this is how it goesThese looms that weave apocrypha
They're hanging from a strand
This dark and empty rooms were full
Of incandescent handsAwkward pause, the fatal flaw
Time, it's a crooked bow
Time is a crooked bowTime you need to learn to love
The ebb just like the flowGrab hold of your bootstraps and pull like hell
Until gravity feels sorry for you and lets you go
As if you lack the proper chemicals to know, oh
The way it felt the last time you let yourself fall this lowTime, time it's a crooked bow
Time's a crooked bow
Time's a crooked bow, oh, oohFifty-five and three-eighths years later
At the bottom of this gigantic crater
An armchair calls to you
Yeah, this armchair calls to youAnd it says that someday we'll get back at them all
With epoxy and a pair of pliers
As ancient sea slugs begin to crawl
Through the ragweed and barbed wire, ohYou didn't write, you didn't call
It didn't cross your mind at all, hey
Through the waves, the waves of hay and straw
You couldn't feel a thing at all
Fifty-five and three-eighths, time
Fifty-five and three-eighths time, time