Yellow fields Sounded foreign in my mouth, When I dreamt of crocodile carved in bone I guess I knew how real it wasn’t That time, anyway Lies construct themselves sometimes, Out of curiosity Maybe like Our astral projection Do you remember? If I made that one up? Us I Mean That time Your tired hand ran Through mulberry straws When the light was gone and everything was pale And the silence was warm With my right ear on your left lung? Did I build your fingertips As your prints grazed my eyelash? Before your palm firmly cradled my skull? I couldn’t have Right? It must have been real Even though the strands are all blurred The outlines faded and frayed Committed to memory Even though it might not be one I built this consciousness For us But You don’t want to move in And now I have to live here without you Lately I’ve pretended I’ve just been waiting for you to come home To this place you’ve never lived I’m telling you Its perfect I’m telling you.