[Ibby]

sometimes when i feel the wind
i think of how it blew her loose clothes
around her, and what i've lost
in my life, just to the march of time
and how i'd sometimes sit in the dark
and feel that all i have is my room

but lying alone in my room
hearing, howling at the window, the wind
blowing through the trees, stained dark
with the smoke of progress, her clothes
again blow through the mists of time
and into my head, and i don't feel lost,

cause who can ever feel lost
when they know that their room
is the same room that, time
and time again, through wind
and rain, they spent nights tangled in the clothes
of their lover, bodies pressed tight in the dark

of the room, dark of the night, dark
of love and secrets kept, lost
in eachother's eyes and, now, clothes
forgotten, we make the whole room
our own as rain pelts and wind
howls, and as we talk it seems time

loses all meaning, and then time
comes back all at once as the dark
lifts and the sun rises, wind
dead, rain stopped, and we feel the time we lost,
wasted, in that dark and stuffy room,
and we grab our things, our clothes,

and go out into the world, clothes
messy and wrinkled, like the old and time
ravaged, and as we strike out from our room
we know we no longer need the secret dark
and we know we've gone and almost lost
the race against time and the race against the wind...

but as we pick up our clothes in the secret dark
we fear not all the time we feel we've lost
spending time in love in the wind-battered old wooden room

sometimes when i feel the wind, i think of how it blew her loose clothes around her, and what i've lost in my life, just to the march of time, and how i'd sometimes sit in the dark and feel that all i have is my room. But lying alone in my room hearing, howling at the window, the wind blowing through the trees stained dark with the smoke of progress, her clothes again blow through the mists of time and into my head, and i don't feel lost, 'cause who can ever feel lost when they know that their room is the same room that, time and time again, through wind and rain, they spent nights tangled in the clothes of their lover, bodies pressed tight in the dark of the room, dark of the night, dark of love and secrets kept, lost in eachother's eyes and, now, clothes forgotten, we make the whole room our own as rain pelts and wind howls, and as we talk it seems time loses all meaning, and then time comes back all at once as the dark lifts and the sun rises, wind dead, rain stopped, and we feel the time we lost, wasted, in that dark and stuffy room, and we grab our things, our clothes, and go out into the world, clothes messy and wrinkled, like the old and time ravaged, and as we strike out from our room we know we no longer need the secret dark and we know we've gone and almost lost the race against time and the race against the wind...

but as we pick up our clothes in the secret dark
we fear not all the time we feel we've lost