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There's a light on the floor
Shows your just out the door
In a Russian film we belong
like a gentle jolt of montage
where the mis-en-scene flies
back and forth into your eyes.

I can hear you writing
I read between the lines
I can hear you writing
in pictographic signs

There are shadows on the wall
in the caves where trains crawl
We can cut our indirect hearts
when the edits keep us apart
When the acetate lies
in the darkness of our eyes.

All of these memories collide
this is the medium tonight
you and me editing time.

I can hear you writing
I read between the lines
I can hear you writing
in pictographic signs

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