You're red around your wrists The air perfumed with mist We breathe it in You poke my ribs I feel you in my skeleton The silent push and pull Rollin through the turnpike toll Looking ahead Some courtyard hotel I'm so tired, so what the hell Slip my hands into your winter gloves I might be leaving on the next bus I might be dreamin Cause the two of us Are old enough to know The hallway is a frame You call my little name I step inside The threshold blind The door is open half the time You're sitting on the edge You say you're off to bed It's almost dawn My light's still on When the day breaks grey Will I be gone? Slip my hands into your winter gloves I might be leaving on the next bus I might be dreamin Cause the two of us Are old enough to know I must move the vase To see your eyes across They look just like Chameleons The many colors of a friend