You should know That I don’t normally do this. Words come easy and shape does not. I know the purpose, though, And have felt the effects, a flowing melody a short prelude A bowstring across a violin. I’m sorry. Sorry that the river rushes at the wrong times and, sorry that I haven’t warned you of the waterfall. Sorry that I write in pulses and not lyrics, sorry that the sun sets too early over somebody else's mountain. Sorry that I can’t start again - the suspense of pause has already leaped from my lips and the fluttering that is suspense has melted into the river and all that remains is the value of silence.