Dancing in the Dark

The kitchen light is buzzing, a moth trapped in the glass,

Your mother's at the table, watching twenty years of coffee pass.

She says your name like it's a stone that's grown too heavy for her hand,

You're checking out the windows, trying to find a place to stand.

I won't tell you it's 'shattered' or that she's 'lost without a trace',

I'll just describe the way she doesn't look you in the face.

It's not a golden sun that's rising, it's a neon sign for bread and wine,

It's not a tragedy, it's just the slow-motion ticking of the time.

And if I don't use any words that we've already heard before,

Maybe we can find what's actually behind that heavy wooden door.

Behind that heavy wooden door!

The boots beside the hallway, they don't fit you like they did,

You're acting like a grown man, but you're still that frightened kid.

She asks about the city, you talk about the traffic jams,

A hundred miles of distance hidden in these easy-to-digest exams.

I won't tell you that it's 'broken' or that 'love is just a game',

I'll just show the way you flinch whenever someone speaks your name.

It's not a golden sun that's rising, it's a neon sign for bread and wine,

It's not a tragedy, it's just the slow-motion ticking of the time.

And if I don't use any words that we've already heard before,

Maybe we can find what's actually behind that heavy wooden door.

Behind that heavy wooden door!

There's no easy ending to a story that's been built on half-said things,

There's no golden rescue, only just the weight that the silence brings.

It's just a kitchen light, and a cold cup of coffee.

That's all.

(That's all...)