Your eyes are raised to heaven When I’m sitting on the floor At your feet. What am I for? Do I create or just translate Between you and your mind The art you’ll never find And when your pen runs out of ink You’ll close the book and with me Leave behind your memory Are you brilliant? Are you blind? Would you have nothing more to say If I ever flew away In the end is it you is it me Do I have anything? What am I for? But when I walk out that door Your prayers are plenty when you have An empty page before you And still I may adore you For you take dictation better Than most poets true compose Your lines far surpass those You pray for what you know will come Your confidence is flattering But still it’s quite another thing Compelled to inspire when to dream Is all you really understand The letters from your hand Will never quite belong to you And even then I only pray That when I leave you’ll softly say GoodbyeTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
