Dust Upon Pages

Silent spoken words without meaning
And in the morning sunlight gleaming
You are still my angel but without wings
And still the inspiration that makes me sing
But I am gathering dust upon pages.

Delicately, I’m yours but not for very long
My untamed world is clouded by a war of fog
And behind this plastic face is a troubled man
A man whose future is spontaneous, never planned
The ground beneath my feet is always unstable.

The river deepens as I drown in trance
The razor’s edge is my only chance
But there, on the shore, you are standing
And I leave you without any understanding
And now I am swept away by the rapids.