Writers Are A Funny Breed Lyrics - Singles - Jane Siberry

It is very quiet here, so still 

I don't live here, I live down the hill on this winter's afternoon 

The distant sun, it slowly swings the room around 

This room hangs on a golden chain suspended, frozen 

Frozen in time since you went away 

Walking through your rooms, I thought your things fitting 

These aren't fingers these are wings 

It says April on your calendar 

It's winter now, I wonder where you are 

I hope it's warm and sunny or cold and windy 

As long as you're fine 

Your house is as tumble-down as mine 

Crumpled papers everywhere like mine 

This one says, "I'll write no more" 

That one says, "Don't lock the door" 

Writers are a funny breed I should know 

You said someday when we're pure and high 

We won't need to capture and describe 

The things we see or don't see 

We'll let things be 

Let things be that's when you'd leave 

And that is why I had to come today 

My mad scribbling crumpled, crippled, fey 

Tossing words from ledges that erode 

From ledges I am not a goat 

I am not a piece of chalk, I just want to do it right like you 

And now I stand here in your house 

Every thing's so still 

I wonder if I'll write again or let things be 

Writers are a funny breed