Easily distracted, I sit in front of the white light
pale, stretched thin, let fly a wail
the likes of which seldom before left my heart
and I shiver

I knew that if your heart was one then I was two
or maybe even three
All I had was mind and sunlight
and the open road long behind me
in front of me empty stretches of time
that I have yet to fill

"Just like a woman!" cries the abandoned one
"Just like a child left to die," says the priest
Everyone's got a different name for it but it's the same feeling
they're trying to put into words hopefully waiting
for the right ones to come along

It's been three hours from sundown
for almost a year now
Those last few hours where the light breaks on the edge of the world
the moment of stillness before the storm
we're all waiting for

I'm writing now, before the crescendo hits
I'm writing for you who saw the birds leave our part of the sky
and started praying like it would help
And the great beings that live between the stars and our beliefs
they could've heard
if they had been listening

Poets have claimed to know things about the world
because they had words that fit the lock
but that doesn't mean the words were the key
It just means that everything can be replaced
Everything except the first lonely long night
and the bright lonesome morning
before the days came
and someone started counting down

I tell you now that I've come to know
how the end began
It began with a young man with a vivid mind
who came to realize that if you've started walking
it's good to know how far you're gonna go
before the night arrives

And so, with a day's end came the world's end
because the young man started counting
thus minutes were seen and seconds appeared
the year of the long shadows had begun
and in the early hours of a fateful dawn
a man knew his time was passing into an end
and for the first time a man cried out
"I'm running out of time!"

And now the years have passed us by
and Lord knows we're one lonely crowd
Everyone looking one way and another
trying their best not to see
To a child of the dreamers it seems
like everyone's trying to buy what they want
by selling everything they need

And now when hours are common
we say: "The happy man counts no minutes"
and while I agree with that there's something I'd like to add
namely that while he counts no minutes
neither does he let the years pass indifferently
nor does he forget that it's easy to forget when you're glad
it's few who can withstand the passing of time
when the blues is playing and the mood is sad


"If we just stopped counting the hours
then we'd never run out of time
So stop all the clocks and take off your watch
and everything will end up alright
Yes, everyone will be fine!"