The clock ticks like rain drops falling,
Glazing the green green grass.
Whispers of gray calling hazing,
Screaming, I know I must know the meaning,
Its hard to comprehend the future when this present sorrow echos the past. Though my soul stands still, hesitating to feel whats real I have to make this last.
Only when I can begin to understand the hour glass.
I cant understand my own heart beats, as the grain drops into the river that flows behind me and the spirit speaks when the train stops.
Looking through yesterdays window the pendulum breaks God takes what we wont let go.
In love begin to sow. The last drain is bleeding proof.
for an even flow or an evening spoof.
The trembling of the frozen rose is subdued. All alone our dreams can never come true. We all look around in silence of a crimson tide, to see our souls only try to hide, from the reverend truth.