|
Words by neil peart, music by geddy lee and alex lifeson |
|
The dancer slows her frantic pace |
|
In pain and desperation, |
|
Her aching limbs and downcast face |
|
Aglow with perspiration |
|
Stiff as wire, her lungs on fire, |
|
With just the briefest pause --- |
|
The flooding through her memory, |
|
The echoes of old applause. |
|
She limps across the floor |
|
And closes her bedroom door... |
|
The writer stares with glassy eyes --- |
|
Defies the empty page |
|
His beard is white, his face is lined |
|
And streaked with tears of rage. |
|
Thirty years ago, how the words would flow |
|
With passion and precision, |
|
But now his mind is dark and dulled |
|
By sickness and indecision. |
|
And he stares out the kitchen door |
|
Where the sun will rise no more... |
|
Some are born to move the world --- |
|
To live their fantasies |
|
But most of us just dream about |
|
The things we'd like to be |
|
Sadder still to watch it die |
|
Than never to have known it |
|
For you -- the blind who once could see --- |
|
The bell tolls for thee... |