When I think of those days, I only
remember gathering wood in the cold
in my black coat so I could get a fire going
in the cast iron of a gray early morning;
I dream what it is to be a man lying
beside a delicate woman, sad and quiet,
playing the mandolin, looking at her as
if she were a couple of plums together like
a cluster within reaching distance on the branch;
thinking of the lunar dust of her face, and how
her fingers were like feathers; I heard
the silence of the mill wheel not turning
in the stream and the wild turkeys not drinking;
I knew they had hypnotized themselves wide-
eyed and staring into the steel ax of the creek.

A story of loneliness and pain
It starts one night in the rain
Stare, stare out the window pane
Cry out loud, shout in vain

Hey there - is it me you're looking for?
Did you hear Lionel around the record Store?
Did you hear me humming that day on the train?
Or share my table at that crowded cafe?
Did we smile in passing the other day?
Did you find me now, to help share your pain?

Well I'm here now, you there, yes - you!
Come in from the cold, mister
Come in, sit down by the fire, sister
Warm your hands, while I play an old folk song
About soul mates who searched too long

They saw their soul stars, and followed them
Followed them home to many a friend
They stopped a while, but hurried on their way
Kept on searching day after day after day

Until the light faded in the sky
Their star lingered no more
And their spark had grown cold
While their hearts had grown old
And they thought back to that soul
At the window pane
Calling out to them, that night
In the rain..!