Fine art, in its imperfection
Really reminds me of you
You just can't get it down to a science
You just can't get it down to a rule
It possesses you just like a river
Mirrors a full midnight moon
I never knew you had me like that
Till I walked away from you

With a still quite as quiet as quicksand
In eyes each a black-forest pool
You reeled me back in for the slaughter;
A martyr, a sacrificed soul
For a cause you could hardly remember
Even if one did really exist
You believed you were doing me a favor
Opening yourself to me like this

Well, where are you now,
Josephine

But now your brown eyes reflect sadness
Reach out to me in despair
Wondering, 'what are the chances
You'll be able to keep me in there?'
"Are you hearing another voice calling,"
They query and question me now?
As I turn my ear into the wind
And listen to it howl