What Was In-between - Mark Stoermer

On the doorstep don’t know where I am

Nowhere left to go

On the doorstep I’m so tired

Can’t think anymore

On the doorstep, no use in hiding

Try and ring the bell

On the doorstep, the lights are shining

In this vacant hotel

From the howl of the Baltic Sea

To the Blue Mountain’s silent plea

Your unwelcome invitation

I’ve carried with me

On the doorstep, I can’t fight it

This flame’s burning low

On the doorstep, time is sliding

For the last picture show

From effervescing crowds of New Orleans

To Atahaulpa’s stoic retinue

This needle on my compass

It pointed towards you

Neon lights glowing from the bandstand

Was it all a dream?

An angry glare from fluorescent-damned-lamps

What was in-between?

Here I am clearing all the years of cob-webs

On the doorstep

On the doorstep lying silent

Nobody’s home

On the doorstep, no longer frightened

No need to post pone

From the last bench of a city tram

To the front seat of a limousine

I have all but forgotten

What was in-between

What was in-between?