Broken Jawbone And Low-Flying Plane

I indicate that you might have a jaw made of glass

And I’ve begun to notice a thin, hairline crack

The hum of a low-flying plane fills the room

Silence blots out silence as I start to lace up yer shoes

And I ask the dark of the empty doorway, has it come to this?

Soft like birds with wings of linen, your memory circles round

Time is heavy, weighed out, measured, thick though void of sound

The tick of the second-hand fills the room

And silence blots out silence as I sigh and lace up my shoes

I ask the dark of the empty doorway, has it come to this?

And a sigh fills the space between the tips of our toes

Silence blots out silence with time still as if it had froze

And I ask you standing there dark in the doorway, has it come to this?