My soul has a spark that ignites a flame inside,
the engine room of my mind machinates a response,
and all the world’s a stage, they say, on a trembling tide,
ebbing and flowing like the metaphors of a beautifully-constructed sentence.

I act out a scene no one cared enough to write,
the other players reacting to the shadows of silent words.
Still life painted in gold, no movement in the moonlight,
dreaming of evolution and the voices of other worlds.

Was it love of life that shimmered in that ethereal glow,
or the faces of angels in the gloom that made me heart beat fast?
Never mind the silly stories I was always told,
those who live with their heads in the clouds don’t always finish last.

It’s a cold comfort knowing I’m not the only one there,
feeling the breath of a gentle wind against my reddening cheek.
The voice of a love carried from beyond the sea somewhere,
colours the dark with a splash of light and the night seems so less bleak.

The tide rushes out and the moon rides high in the dark underbelly of the sky,
and the audience has dispersed into the cold still of the night.
You and I are the only two remaining, singing songs that get us high,
hand in hand, shoulder to shoulder, waiting for the first crack of morning light.