Half my life is spent on dreams Half trying to forget The sultry days amidst the beams Of suns before they set Half is wasted in the street Half inside the square Rushing madly to the beat Sad and silent in the chair Half consumed in daily fret Half on plans to be A congregation…
Sometimes I think I forget Where it is and where it began The desert where the ocean sat The valley where the river ran And sometimes all I ever need Is the journey through it all Not to touch the grounded trees But simply listen as they fall And sometimes I think I was right…
I’ve said it all before a thousand times And waited for the stars to show concern I’ve practiced to the rain with no reply And whispered to the wind with no return It echoes through the heart of passing years And lives a secret life beneath my eyes It’s spoken to the ground through fallen…