There is a river, of blistering cold,
                                      With a history unknown, and a past untold,
                                             I hear it's waters, are like liquid fire,
                                        Doused in hate, and tempered with desire,
                                      I've seen its violent tremors, and jarring quakes,
                                  The bones and destruction, it leaves in its wake,
                                       But I've heard it's melodies, and sweet lullabies,
                                              That lift my spirits, and dull my cries,
                                         So I long to sail, upon this river of strife,
                                          I long to sail, upon this river that is Life.

There is a lake, I long to cross,
It carries burdens, and too much loss,
But if you wait, till the midnight comes,
You may find your lover waiting, with open arms,
I've felt its cold, like the hand of death,
Yet it brings revival, and new birth,
I lurk by its waters, waiting and watching,
For stories and legends, or at least something,
For I may leave tonight, and I pray I can cope,
With the life I'll lead, upon this lake that is Hope.

                                                          ­        But there is an island I long to shun,
                                                           ­      Filled with man, and filled with sun,
                                                         It's rivers are sweet, and flow with grace,
                                                          ­        And life goes on, at a leisurely pace,
                                                         There are fruits heard of, only in legends,
                                        Where heroes roam wild, with their days to spend,
                                                 On this island there's a home, waiting for me,
                                                             ­       Filled with those, that I long to see,
                              But this island I must shun, for though filled with mirth,
                                                Is nothing more, than the island, that is Death.