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Day is the veil that you can't pull aside like a curtain |
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Sewn from a black cloth - a cloth that no-one can see |
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No-one can take it away and you know this for certain |
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No-one can help you, you might as well let the cloth be |
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You no longer are able to see, you no longer have foresight |
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And you can't part the curtain, there's no way to know what's in store |
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You're stranded in time, a ghost that is lost in the twilight |
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And the curtain is woven from the memories of time gone before |
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Day is blank paper, but paper you never can write on |
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Unlike the letters I hold that you sent to me |
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But the words that you've written are bare lips speaking to no-one |
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And words that have lost all their soul should never be |
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You knew from the first touch this way was a pathway to danger |
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You didn't take time to close all the doors and the gates |
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Feelings can bring you so near and still leave you as stranger |
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And things are not what they appear but you find out too late |
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Day is the thief that you don't have the courage to track down |
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Who forces himself into all of the rooms of your home |
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He comes to your garden, your secrets - he's quiet! Makes no sound |
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He steals all the answers and leaves all the questions alone |
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And you know there'll be days, just like the ones that you once knew |
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And you know that love is really a question of thirst |
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And you know that one day there will by a new power within you |
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But you dread all the days in between that will seek you out first |
