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.


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