How delicate the tracery of her fine lines
Like the moonlight lacetops of the evening
pines
Like a song half heard through a closed door
Like an old book when you cannot
read the writing anymore
How innocent her visage as my child lover lies
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Pressed against the rainswept windy windows of my eyes
Like an antique etching glass
design
That somehow turned out wrong
I keep looking through old varnish
At my
late lover's body
Caught on ancient canvas
And decaying...disappearing
Even as
I sing this song
How secretly and silently my sorrow disappears
You can't see
it with your eyes or hear it with your ears
It's like a Watermark that's never there and
never really gone
I keep looking through old varnish
At my late lover's body
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Caught on ancient canvas
And decaying...disappearing
Even as I sing this song
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Even as I sing this song
Even as I sing this song
