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