We're the end of all the means
Cut circles of cloth into routine
That slant of light and how warm it feels
When it hits your fourth floor window sill
Your reflection on icy front door
Portraits in dust on the main floor
Thumb prints on the office phone
You think someone's watching when we're alone
So please, just sit and be still
And please, don't go back to Brenville
Footsteps in the commons hall
Run like markers in bathroom stalls
Letter after letter of sweat stained ink
It's what I said but not what I think
So please, compose yourself of iron will
And please, don't go back to Brenville
You're much too young
You're much too pretty
You're far too good
To go back to that city
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