A lonely page in a music book
Is torn and blown across the lake
And by the water's edge it stills,
As the tide retreats in defense
Can these notes awake again?
Father time is slowing down
The flowing sand inside the hour gla**
Unlike time, they can be free
The path now leads across the bridge
Towards the chorus where tritons meet
"Gather around, my little ones," they sing,
The notes are dancing through the trees
Pulling every single string
The orchestra will soon begin
"Listen!," the brook sings with the green gra**
That grows under the mill
Echoing fields
You still hear the music playing
This fate in vain,
Like the silent sound encloses us
And them
Now it's merely writings in the sand
Each gentle gust
Of the wind now fades the written word
...fades the written word
...fades the written word