From the recording The Magician

Very early demon of The Magician


The Magician

You can turn my sobs into bread,
Fill up my guts and empty my head.
Don’t you mind the glass you find under the bed,
It’s there to remind my mind that things don’t break, they’re redefined.

I can turn this love into pain,
With a sleight of hand, baby, I can rearrange.
Keep your eyes trained, as I mesmerize your brain,
And send you off on your train or bus or plane and trust we’ll readjust.

He can pull a rabbit from a hat,
But he can’t change its fate if it crosses a black cat.
Smoke fills up the space, and poof, he’s gone without a trace.
The show was great, I wait backstage incase he wants his bunny back.

You can cut me straight down the middle,
As you split my sides, forgive me if I wiggle.
Though many men have tried, none have gotten this trick right,
Leave me dichotomized, and played out like a fiddle.

I think he’s just an illusion,
And I’ve got more proof than not to draw to that conclusion.
It eludes me, this delusion, though he moves me
That is proven, I’m not one for convolution.

They say he’s just a stage magician,
Call it trick of light or mirrors in the right position,
But if it’s all a hoax I guess I’ll blame my intuition.
Though I hope he reappears, that's not part of the tradition.

I’ve fallen.
I’ve fallen,
I’ve fallen for it.