I can't tell these stories, any more.
Each time I tell, they spill a little,
Now all that's left seems slight
And brittle. And I can't tell these
Stories, any more. If you listen
When the rain falls on the path.
You may hear the sounds of sadness
Or of joy. That's because the raindrops,
Are the scattering of pearls, from an ocean
Far away - too far from land for seagulls
Or for me. Tell me why you want to hear
These stories once again? Do you think
That somehow, things will be the same?
With every word that's ever heard,
There's a wave of tiny atoms. And when
Those atoms shake your ear, they'll leave
You feeling lonely. And that's why I cannot
Tell these stories any more.