Wait Mister. Which way is home?They turned the light outand the dark is moving in the corner.There are no sign posts in this room,four ladies, over eighty,in diapers every one of them.La la la, Oh music swims back to meand I can feel the tune they playedthe night they left mein this private institution on a hill.
Imagine it. A radio playingand everyone here was crazy.I liked it and danced in a circle.Music pours over the senseand in a funny waymusic sees more than I.I mean it remembers better;remembers the first night here.It was the strangled cold of November;even the stars were strapped in the skyand that moon too brightforking through the bars to stick mewith a singing in the head.I have forgotten all the rest.
They lock me in this chair at eight a.m.and there are no signs to tell the way,just the radio beating to itselfand the song that remembersmore than I. Oh, la la la,this music swims back to me.The night I came I danced a circleand was not afraid.Mister?
Music Swims Back To Me
I put the first line on a bangle, so
Wait Mister. Which way is home?