We're always trying to see the future
Never looking at our past
Not thinking about the things we've done
Or the shadows that they cast

We crave the mystery, that we haven't seen
To see what road life takes
Marching ahead and never looking back
To learn from our mistakes

For today is only a stepping stone
That leads to tomorrow's door
The signs that history has placed in our way
We only choose to ignore

For yesterday's gone, it's slipped away
And never even put up a fight
So we'll go through life, searching for things
Just barely out of sight

Stepping on butterflies, both day and night
Where ever butterflies are found
But no one's around to hear their screams
For the future can't make a sound

At the bottom of every barrel
You'll find the broken and the cracked
The people who live in shadows
Those who don't know how to act

The backward and inverted
The awkward and the shy
Just people looking for answers
Just people asking why

The outcast and the lonely
The scared or the abused
A person without a friend
Or a friend who's been misused

Just people looking for people
To fill a hollow hole
The empty who hunger and thirst
Or maybe a tired soul

At the bottom of every barrel
And maybe you didn't know it
But if you're looking hard enough
You'll even find a poet

Oh lady fair, of twilight mist
Why must thou leave so soon?
What beauty will thine eyes have missed
Beneath the coming moon

Thou hath never seen the dark of night
Neither the stars so high
Thou hath never seen the bright sunlight
That kisses the eastern sky

Trapped between the night and day
In a place thou can't escape
Never to see the magical way
The shadows change their shape

Just a prisoner of the inbetween
That vanishes in the night
A legend told, but never seen
A mystery to the light

Though fleeting is thy life long curse
Thou art blessed never to know it
For thy name hath inspired many a verse
To many an unknown poet

Oh lady fair, of twilight mist
Why must thou leave so soon?
What beauty will thine eyes have missed
Beneath the coming moon

To all who write from within their soul
I leave to them my muse
A curse to me I couldn't console
A curse I couldn't refuse

To all of those who write of romance
I leave the spirit of my lovely Lenore
For maybe in death I'll get a chance
To be with her once more

To all of those who write by night
I leave the darkness, my captor of dreams
And all the demons that held me tight
The reason for all of my screams

To all of those who write of pain
I leave my broken heart
A lonely spirit that left its stain
And tore my world apart

And to all of those who write of death
By the light of an empty moon
I'll send the reaper to steal your breath
For you'll be with me soon

Touch not the heart that doth not beat for you
Plant not the seed of sin that grows to lust
David and Bathsheba already knew
The fire that burned within would ****** trust

Keep not hidden this flame that tempts thy soul
Cast out the embers that cause thee to fail
Why keep a flame that thou cannot control?
Doth not the embers spread that lead to hell?

Temptation comes in many hidden forms
The forbidden fruit grows on many trees
Why cause the winds to blow that bring life's storms?
Rather be content with the gentle breeze

Let not the eyes condemn thy very soul
Cast out thy lust and keep thy body whole

Today I found an angel's wing
Just lying on the ground
As I held the feathers in my hand
I couldn't even utter a sound

I wondered if she had fallen
Or maybe been hit by a plane
I had to go ask my mama
I knew my mama could explain

As I ran into the kitchen
I couldn't find her anywhere
She wasn't on the front porch swing
Sometimes I'd find her there

When I stepped into the backyard
I saw mama on the ground
I ran to my neighbors as fast as I could
And told them where mama was found

The neighbors called the ambulance
They said mama had gone to Heaven
Daddy came home as fast as he could
To his sons just six and seven

Daddy tried his best to explain to us
Why sometimes that people die
He said she's in a better place
And that it's okay to cry

Mama took us to church on Sundays
And she was always the first to sing
But I knew Jesus needed my mama that day
To help the angel with the broken wing

Three red roses placed on his grave
And a toast to the fair raven's friend
A master of words, born to die young
A poet with an untimely end

His Tell Tale heart now silent and still
Never to be heard anymore
But weeping still heard, tears fall like rain
From the spirit that he called Lenore

Forty years old when his quill ran dry
And could barely even make out a sound
"Lord help my soul" were the last words he spoke
Before they buried him deep in the ground

He wrote of the darkness that haunted his soul
And the spirits that invaded his mind
Sanity was tempting him just out of reach
The one thing that Poe couldn't find

A bottle of cognac and three red roses
A stranger would place on his grave
A small price to pay to the poet of poets
For all of the joy he gave