Текст песни Bob Tilton She Sings But Once

The tragic poet cannot write his history in the hillside
Still desperate, fingers claw the ground
The fragile poet learns how night will lose it's memory
Of veins exposed in moonlight
When the sleep is washed from it's eyes
The tragic poet cuts himself wide open
Flaunts vulnerability for a moment
And cries
"Tell me you don't hear the swan."
The tragic poet writes himself in the past tense
With both hands on heart
He does not feel himself move
Fearing himself forgotten
"Oh prints in wet sand, stay a while
The clock fell from the wall
Or was it taken down?
Tonight I'm not so certain."
Fragile poet holding letters still intact
A brittle poetry of self
A brittle poetry of... ?
And he cut himself so deep
Bleed himself so clear
All the children grew up too soon
And saw right through him
Fearing
Himself
Forgotten
"Tell me you don't hear the swan
Hear her sing, hear the drum fade
This charlatan throws a ribbon of verse
Against a starless night sky
And watches the prints fade
From each moment
Forgotten."