Dead drops the awkward sound that upon a bards tongue sweeps unbound where no ears hear, no thoughts endear to the embrace of the whimsical sound Of life's tormented holy ground.
It dribbles out upon the cracks where seldom words fill the slacks Of human thought, the danced rhythmic tones that fill the mantel of mortal bones Only to find the poetic groans.
Awe fills and finds itself aware where the valley gleams upon our stare The shadowed forms of long past dreams Are these bards that fill within their screams All the passion of our mortal streams.
To linger or fade forever away where words embrace, hold and stray Their ancient voices upon the air that dares to dream, dares to share The tender moment beyond compare.