Thursday, November 25, 2004

The Storm

Storm clouds gather quickly, oh I need a place to land...
I'd be back home by now, but you won't let me hold your hand
And you slip right through my fingers, like a million grains of sand;
And you slip right through my fingers, like a million grains of sand.

Thunder rumbles distant, oh I need a place to hide...
I knew I'd find your doors, but you had locked them from inside
And I'm sinking like a pebble, in the rising evening tide;
And I'm sinking like a pebble, in the rising evening tide.

Lightning striking nearer, oh I need to just let go...
I'd talk with you forever, but the storm's about to blow
And I try to call "I love you", through the thunder's afterglow
And I wonder if you heard me, and I guess I'll never know.

(From my 1987 collection, Memories For A Lonely Night)

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