The Blind Composer (Disappearing Ink)

Imagine what could happen
if you got to change the world
And somehow you could resurrect
Some memory, a girl;
It's been ten years, yet still, those tears,
they make my stomach curl;
The light that burns more bright than most
may burn for half as long
Only to be brought back
by a nightingale in song.

On that day I watched her play,
with birds about the shore.
A finch had washed up in her place,
from the well amid the waste—
who floundered by the Sea,
and then flew on.
The bird fluttered for a moment,
and was gone.
.
And now she's on my mind again,
that poltergeist who was my friend;
A while we stood,
where lolled the waves,
under a sky where seagulls played;.
Dead in the sea, she washed ashore,
her eyes were closed;
bonne nuit, amore.
She splashed about the waves, my child,
and then she splashed no more.

Destiny weaves spider webs,
the water flows; the water ebbs;
Life must be played by hands we're gave;
a gamble to be sure.
It is a shame that fate plays game,
We leave this casino with less than we came;
It is a game one cannot win.
We're seeds lost in the cotton gin;

That is the cost for life when lost
We get to place no bet,
We keep no cash as we must pass
into the Graveyard of the Past.
and in the end we all pretend
we cannot be quite sure;
if all our tragedies are penned,
by a blind composer.

To live is but to write your name
in disappearing ink;
but to fade like naked footprints,
on a wave tormented beach.
We are but chasing yesterday
a day we cannot reach.
We are but fragments, as it happens,
that's all that we can be.
We're driftwood on a crazy river,
floating in the stream.