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Words by neil peart, music by geddy lee and alex lifeson |
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The dancer slows her frantic pace |
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In pain and desperation, |
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Her aching limbs and downcast face |
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Aglow with perspiration |
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Stiff as wire, her lungs on fire, |
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With just the briefest pause --- |
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The flooding through her memory, |
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The echoes of old applause. |
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She limps across the floor |
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And closes her bedroom door... |
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The writer stares with glassy eyes --- |
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Defies the empty page |
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His beard is white, his face is lined |
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And streaked with tears of rage. |
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Thirty years ago, how the words would flow |
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With passion and precision, |
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But now his mind is dark and dulled |
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By sickness and indecision. |
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And he stares out the kitchen door |
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Where the sun will rise no more... |
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Some are born to move the world --- |
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To live their fantasies |
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But most of us just dream about |
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The things we'd like to be |
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Sadder still to watch it die |
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Than never to have known it |
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For you -- the blind who once could see --- |
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The bell tolls for thee... |
