| Lyrics: | (Hammill)
Pretty keen - yes, my hobby keeps me busy
and if I talk to myself, what's the
crime?
In the darkroom I am a dealer in space and time....
When all memory is
mellowed,
when the photograph is yellowed,
still it never lies.
There you are, your
eyes laced with secret pleasure,
saying that you're on the way to change,
devouring in
inordinate measure
every diversion that's arranged.
For every appetite, a cruel
attraction,
but there's a panic in your actions...
oh, I never saw you look so
strange.
Fixing memory chemically,
holding time on the stop-clock,
hanging back
from that last frame
just in case it didn't show you
in the way I used to know you...
I
thought you'd always stay the same.
(But you won't.)
Oh, the red light, the silver, the
black and the bromide;
the silence, the waiting for overview....
The past seems
under-exposed, low tide,
but still the images ghost through.
And you're there in the
bath,
which is all this has led to,
and I can't say your path
is a right one to
choose....
But then I only have a negative of you. |
