The Writer

You wait for a silence I wait for a word Lie next to your frame Girl unobserved You change your position And you are changing me Casting these shadows Where they shouldn't be We're interrupted by the heat of the sun Trying to prevent what's already begun You're just a body I can smell your skin And when I feel it, you're wearing thin But I've got a plan Why don't you be the artist, and make me out of clay? Why don't you be the writer and decide the words I say? Because I'd rather pretend I'll still be there at the end Only it's too hard to ask won't you try to help me Sat on your sofa it's all broken springs This isn't the place for those violin strings I try out a smile and I aim it at you You must have missed it You always do But I've got a plan Why don't you be the artist, and make me out of clay? Why don't you be the writer and decide the words I say? Because I'd rather pretend I'll still be there at the end Only it's too hard to ask won't you try to help me You wait, I wait, casting shadows, interrupted You wait, I wait, casting shadows Why don't you be the artist; and make me out of clay (and make me out of clay) Why don't you be the writer and decide the words I say (and decide the words I say) Because I'd rather pretend I'll still be there at the end Only it's too hard to ask won't you try to help me Why don't you be the artist and make me out of clay? Why don't you be the writer and decide the words I say? 'Cause I'd rather pretend I'll still be there at the end Only it's too hard to ask won't you try to help me