Magne Furuholmen

A Dot Of Black In The Blue Of Your Bliss


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The cracked sandy surface of your kitchen floor
A dry desert-plain that begs for more
Than mine and yours casual conversation
The brown grassy hills of your wall to wall
The fake ancient war-chest beats in the hall
And the prophetic words in the library all speak of isolation

Always forever but never like this
There's a dot of black in the blue of your bliss
In white pregnant layers of linen clouds
You're hiding deep in their womblike shroud
Each stillborn morning seems extremely loud
Designed to smash your face in

Always forever but never like this
There's a dot of black in the blue of your bliss
The cracked sandy surface of your kitchen floor
A dry desert plain that begs for more, than casual conversation
You're learning to live with his many faces
The rub is he's hard in all the wrong places

Always forever but never like this
There's a dot of black in the blue of your bliss
Yeah, always forever but never like this
There's a dot of black in the blue of your bliss

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