I have the words, I laid them down somewhere,
I think, I think, I heard the tune in the air,
so before I turn and lay to waste,
bring the melody to your lips and wait,
for an absolution, to a history that is yours to bare
towards a future not quite ready to go there.
Rhyme, rhythm, a word none of us could spell
I forgot the meaning some thinks fortunes tell.
But there is a world in nothing, or so I’ve been told,
by little old ladies drowning in their words of gold,
but one whose numbers I could not grasp,
told me of a history still so young, and angry and rash.
I have her words, and my own, and yours,
forget what we are told, just listen to the tone
and we will see with eyes tightly closed
the meaning we always search for,
but will never rightfully own.