What kind of life and wherever should I live
Things that were taken, things I give
I searched till dawn, face pale and drawn
Trying to reveal the real alternative
Nor just another tale of the seeking
Nor a complaint, at these crumbs I'm eking
no not a word, a voice I've never heard
not of the real alternatives speaking
And how I dreamed I saw its holy face
Heard its bell, and knew its dwelling place
walked in its land, It came out to my hand
Oh how I dreamed I'd carried through my race
What kind of life, wherever should I live
Things that were taken, things I give
And I search still, and say I never will
And still pine for the real alternative
what
No comments:
Post a Comment