Horizon


Walking on this cold wet sand in a stormy windswept dusk,
It never really dawned on me how this love we had might rust.
The black and blue colours, the horizon’s crimson spell,
And I can’t find the difference now between the wake and swell.

There’s a quiet gentle place I’ve found each and every lonely night,
Where the God’s and their professors drink in the morning light.
The books upon the bookshelf hold a good and kind counsel,
Where wishes hold no promises that all truth will dispel.

Drawing straight lines down a darkened well,
And writing words that fall just where they fell,
The metronome bows down to the bell,
Maybe time is parallel…….parallel.

The nakedness of youth is thrown into the fire,
With every other whim and falsely held desire.
The priest the judge the jury
Bid their final sad farewell
No hope no fear, no spinning wheel
Maybe time is parallel……..parallel

Way over way over way over way over,
Way over way over way over way over,
The Horizon, the horizon.

Drawing straight lines down a darkened well,
And writing words that fall just where they fell,
The metronome bows down to the bell,
Maybe time is parallel…….parallel.

Way over way over way over way over,
Way over way over way over way over,
The Horizon, the horizon, the horizon.