You are the light, the circle, the ring, the grave and the shelter, the trail and the road
The rhythm, the secret of all that was born, the spring and the fall, the hail and the snow
A rock, the sand, the shade of the tree growing on the side of the mountain at dawn
You moan you grumble in every sound beneath the curtains behind the door
You are the seldom, the more and more, the maybe later and the not quite yet
The floatsam cast upon the shore, the mesmerizing tune of a siren song.
And you're the one, the only one, who can appease my trouble, my torment,
When all sense seems gone, when my life feels lost.
The sacred and the profane, a seashell in the sand, the crackling of the rain, the underhand.
May the dust, may the blood, may the fury when unfurled,
May the icy hearts of men never stain the mirror
May the night, may the mud, may the folly of the world,
May the anger and the storm never blacken the tain.
Who should I talk to ? The grounds ? The walls ? Those who won't listen ? All the deaf like me ?
You are the smoke, the ashes, the mask, and you never answer to what I ask
And you're the one, the only one, who can appease my trouble, my torment,
When all sense seems gone, when my life feels lost.
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