Nov 27, 2007 16:48
drifting like wood on a river
moving like the snake that slithers
where can you find the date
on big ben or in the new york times
beginning from sun down to sun up
filling life's bottomless cup
in the end always in the end
we mean what we forget to say
leaving us little more than driftwood
hidden beneath the stars' hood
on the knees in the sand
something found and lost
there the stars shoot off
letting life one last scoff
there in the end always the end
we mean what we forget to say
no better than thoughts
no more than words
we mean what we forget to say