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Picking up the whispers from the seagulls |
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Watching people creeping home |
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River old and beautiful you listen |
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Do you know where they come from |
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Your currents flowing through their minds |
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But no-one sees the centuries it takes |
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To build the memories behind |
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Sliding through the cities, early morning |
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As the sun begins to wake |
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And time has stopped to watch you gliding past |
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To waken your youthful body naked |
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You've watched the walls and concrete grow from bushes |
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In the twinkling of an eye |
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And in another twinkle you will watch them |
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You will watch them as they die. |
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Reflecting summer skies and hazy sunshine |
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Playing music through the reeds |
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A light orchestral silence greets your presence |
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While your happiness is freed |
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And your beauty spreads over about you |
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through the countryside |
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And softly greets the trees |
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And everywhere the morning sings a chorus |
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That is echoed by the breeze |
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Alone and yet majestically you travel |
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Painting pictures of the sky |
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And catching old reflections from around you |
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In the mirrors of your eye |
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River in the morning snatching sunlight |
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Weaving patterns in the day |
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You've lived a thousand centuries and still |
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Your beauty grows, it never fades |
