She said she likes my poems.
And they said I don't even write.
She doesn't have a body, she doesn't have a voice, but her words are running around in my head.

She sits in a corner of nowhere, talks to no-one, knows all there is to know and a little bit more.
So I come and sit next to her to listen, and she tells me about a place that's a little different.

She said she likes my poems.
And they said she doesn't even exist.
She doesn't have a body, she doesn't have a voice, but her laughter is rolling in the air around me.

We sit in a little boat in a wineglass,
And there's a storm around us.
I ask her if she's a fairy,
And she asks me if I ever saw a fairy without wings.
I ask her if she's death,
And she asks me if death's that quiet.
I ask her if she's me,
And she says she loves me.

She said she likes my poems.
And they've put me in a big white room.
She doesn't have a body, she doesn't have a voice,
but she can walk through walls.