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If there's a way to say I'm sorry |
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Perhaps I'll stay another evening beside your door |
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And watch the moon rise inside your window |
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Where jewels are falling, and flowers weeping, and strangers laughing |
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Because you're grieving that I have gone |
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And if I don't know why I'm going |
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Perhaps I'll wait beside the pathway where no one's coming |
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And count the questions I turned away from, or closed my eyes to, |
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Or had no time for, or passed right over |
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Because the answers would shame my pride |
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I've heard them say the word "forever" |
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But I don't know if words have meaning when they are promised |
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In fear of losing what can't be borrowed |
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Or lent in blindness, or blessed by pageantry, or sold by preachers |
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While you're still walking your separate way |
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Sometimes we bind ourselves together |
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And seldom know the harm in binding the only feeling that cries for freedom |
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And needs unfolding and understanding |
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And time for holding a simple mirror |
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The one reflection to call your own. |
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If there's an end to all our dreaming |
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Perhaps I'll go while you're still standing beside your door |
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And I'll remember your hands enfolding a bowl of moonstones |
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A lamp of childhood, a robe of roses |
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Because your sorrows were still unborn. |
