Text: Joan Baez. The Dangling Conversation.

It's a still life water color
Of a now late afternoon
As the sun shines
Through the curtained lace

And shadows wash the room
And we sit and drink our coffee
Couched in our indifference
Like shells upon the shore

You can hear the ocean roar
In the dangling conversation
And the superficial sighs
The borders of our alliance

And you read your Emily Dickinson
And I my Robert Frost
And we note our place with book markers
That measure what we've lost

Like a poem poorly written
We are verses out of rhythm
Couplets out of rhyme
In syncopated time

And the dangled conversation
And the superficial sighs
Are the borders of our alliance

Yes, we speak of things that matter
With words that must be said
"Can analysis be worthwhile?"
"Is the theater really dead?"

And how the room is softly faded
And I only kiss your shadow
I cannot feel your hand
You're a stranger now unto me

Lost in the dangling conversation
And the superficial sighs
In the borders of our alliance