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Mark Stoermer
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What Was In-between
On the doorstep don't know where I am.
Nowhere left to go.
On the doorstep I'm so tired,
Can't think anymore.
On the doorstep, no use in hiding.
Try and ring the bell
On the doorstep, the lights are shining
In this vacant hotel.
From the howl of the Baltic Sea
To the Blue Mountain's silent plea,
Your unwelcome invitation
I've carried with me.
On the doorstep, I can't fight it.
This flame's burning low.
On the doorstep, time is sliding
For the last picture show.
From effervescing crowds of New Orleans
To Atahaulpa's stoic retinue,
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This needle on my compass
It pointed towards you.
Neon lights glowing from the bandstand—
Was it all a dream?
An angry glare from fluorescent-damned-lamps.
What was in-between?
Here I am clearing all the years of cob-webs
On the doorstep
On the doorstep lying silent,
Nobody's home.
On the doorstep, no longer frightened,
No need to post pone.
From the last bench of a city tram
To the front seat of a limousine,
I have all but forgotten
What was in-between.
What was in-between?
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