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The couch in the house is invisible
There's no moon in the sky
No light on in this household
I walk around blindfolded and hungry
Reaching out my arms for a box of saltines
And i imagine a crumb falls to the floor
I imagine myself as a crumb on the floor

And I can move through the fog
It is the fog machine I can't move through
And I can walk through walls
As long as the door is open

The couch in the house is velvet
There's nobody home
No body sitting on it
And I just end up lying on the floor
Illuminated by the light from the open door
And I could imagine myself getting up
But I already imagined myself as a crumb

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