Your skin gossamer thin, the light passes through
No more out of you
Your eyes dug deeper in your brow
Look only inward now
And your glory with each passing story
The more glorious
The elevator stops at P, you walk with the maître d'
Through the inevitable hush
'Til you're cornered in the best of all possible corners
The photo-op is enormous as you gaze out
Through the window of the Windows on the World
Your style chiseled and bold, wide-angle prose
The pages could barely contain you
Now low, the horizon is drawing in
Enemies are circling
And your game face is the same face
Only more
More
More
More (more of what you are)
More of what-
More (more of what you are)
More of what, what you are
More (more of what you are)
More of what, of what you are
More (more of what you are)
More of what, of what you are
More (more of what you are), hmm
Your niche, your final retreat
Ultimate distillation of an opening gambit
Now, when I'm done with being
I'll try my hand at nothing
As you gaze out through the window
Of the Windows on the World
More (more of what you are)
Dear, mm-hm, what you are
More (more of what you are)
Of what you are
More (more of what you are)
Mm-hm, of what you are
More (more of what you are)
Giving, mm-hm, what you are
More (more of what you are)
More of what, mm-mm, what you are
More (more of what you are)
More of what, of what you are
More (more of what you are)
Hm-mm, of what you are
(More of what you are)
(More of what you are)
