The reaper and the hangman
The hands of time and the sand man
They cast lots for my happiness and my joy
But hope it fleets and breath does ebb
And we're all just caught in this spider's web.

Maybe we aint talked of nothing
For three whole days
And I know my words don't come easily
In all our different shades

So put down that old paint brush, honey
Them pencils of mine we'll ignore
Keep talking sweetly to me as I close the door
And talk of everything, honey

And maybe, nothing at all...

It doesn't matter what you're dreaming
When you lay here next to me
I'll hold you softly sleeping
And keep you comfortably

And when you wake there'll be a new day
And when you wake the sun will shine
Maybe we'll have something new to say
Maybe you'll still be mine

While we're dreaming softly tonight...

A Young Lad

Each day he dons a mask
And a cape of convention

Wanton thoughts and rebellious ideas
Tease the vigour of his spirit

Some days he knows what he wants
Some days he wants what he knows
Some days he wants what's wanted of him
But at the end of most days
He wonders what he needs

This world we're all born into
Comes with illusion and preordained hierarchy
A part of him wants to conform
And succeed by the parameters of society
Yet a different part of him yearns
To live in the energy that is now
To breathe the crispness of a single moment
To succeed by his parameters
To be a truth
And a devotee of choice

For in his heart, he longs for simplicity
For beauty that is sincere
And, because of its sincerity, overwhelming
He wants to taste and feel
And pioneer his own discovery

Oh the war of his mind, heart and soul
Sometimes its two against one
Sometimes its each fighting for itself
No matter which
He is the battlefield
He is both the victor and the defeated
He is the injured, the survivor and the dead

This young lad on a lonesome journey called life.