Letra de The Dangling Conversation (Live at Lincoln Center, New York City, NY - January 1967)
It's a still-life watercolor Of a now-late afternoon As the sun shines through the curtain lace And shadows wash the roomAnd we sit and drink our coffee Couched in our indifference Like shells upon the shore You can hear the ocean roarIn the dangling conversation And the superficial sighs The borders of our livesAnd you read your Emily Dickinson And I my Robert Frost And we note our place with book markers That measure what we've lostLike a poem poorly written We are verses out of rhythm Out of rhyme In syncopated timeAnd the dangling conversation And the superficial sighs Are the borders of our livesYes, 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 has softly faded And I only kiss your shadow I cannot feel your hand You're a stranger now unto meLost in the dangling conversation And the superficial sighs In the borders of our lives