There's no time, there is no reason
I'm lost in the turn of the year.
I want to cry out for some season
where the wind blows slower apace.
I cannot find what I'm here for
and it seems the quest is lost
amid the hurrying moments and fragments
and, ah, how I fear this loss...
Another life lost here on this rock
speck in God's eye
another lesson to be learned once again then
and still the wind refused to die.
The hours and minutes fill up
and the material world's catching hold
every time I look in the mirror
I see I'm growing old.
How, how did you catch me
sly devil that you are
in this place where the wind never slackens
and only I can hear the mirror sigh.
I'm not here to fill in the pattern
or lay another stone on the way
I want to live as if it mattered
and when I die I want to go away.
gallagher
20 aug 76 - buena park
— Copyright 1965-2008 by Dennis Gallagher —