The moon is high above the street and the roses are in bloom
There’s nothing here but wind and fear in this shadow across the room
Except the ghosts of yesteryear and the memories that they bring
With broken cages and dusty pages for the golden ages of the spring
The willow out beyond the town looms large in the twilight
At the center of the cemetery where we hide from tomorrow’s sight.
The widow-makers of the forest in the gleaming webs they spin
Catch all the men who will come in from the daytime’s blasting wind
When the sun’s on the horizon, the valley is full of foolish gold
Everything we can see is a forgotten shadow of what we hold
Like bodies cold, the aging old disappear like ashes in the sea
Falling through the hands of time with bells that chime the hours of eternity.
The bridge between the midnight gale and the morning fog that breaks at dawn
Fell down into the quicksand-pit and sunk to Hell, forever gone
A miscarried whisper in the mist off a bloody fist that was made of stone
Crushes the towers and the spires and the evil empires we call home
I would roam like a tumbleweed thrown into the brunt of a hurricane
If I could break the door to the lake where long cast stones still remain.
Who will behold this ancient myth of love and hate and good and bad–
Beautiful and ugly, truth and lies and being glad with what we’ve had?
To have loved and lost is worse than death for dying breath is like the hand of space
And time and forever, that you never believed would cover your frozen face
Showing the darkness and the tunnel of light that you now humbly embrace
To vanish together with forever and wait for fate to break this place.