How Come They Don't Touch The Ground by Marty Willson-piper

Even yesterday has gone away
Has tomorrow ever come
Will next week last forever
How come it's funny but it's not fun


Have the fingers slipped, has time been cut
Has the face misled the eye
Break the glass let me out of here
Why doesn't six come after five


Turning, turning round and round
My feet are burning
How come they don't touch the ground


I play a game on the paving stones
The cracks seem so small to me


I suddenly shrink and meet some insect friends
And need binoculars to see across what now is wide to me


They close the doors on another train
The windows dirty as the floor
You can play games with your reflections
But i don't do that anymore


I got up to leave
But something i couldn't see--stopped me