Porcupine Tree

A tiny flame inside my hand
A compromise I never planned
Unravel out the finer strands
And I'm looking at a blank page now
Should I fill it up with words somehow?
I whispered something in her ear
I bare my soul but she don't hear
The scratching of a mellotron it always seemed to make her cry
Well maybe she remembers us collecting space up in the sky
Nothing rises from my feet of clay, but it's OK
Red mist spreads across my fingertips, ardour slips