| We caught the sky opening,
|
| Two golden streaks
|
| They disappeared, heat spilled from the shapes,
|
| All at once dead and living.
|
| Do those lines still follow you?
|
| Still follow you?
|
| A distant place, rendered flat on this page.
|
| It’s as though nothing was real.
|
| Who could possibly share what we’d seen,
|
| And who would believe?
|
| That moment stole my breath away
|
| Just one silent touch
|
| A pale hand caressing my face
|
| A voice insistent and low
|
| My friend, this is the end;
|
| Just turn round and go.
|
| Maybe there never was
|
| Anything at all.
|
| Do those lines still follow you?
|
| Still follow you?
|
| My friend, this is the end,
|
| Just turn round and go.
|
| Lay me down to rest
|
| Shrouded in the snow.
|
| My friend, this is the end.
|
| We never learned anything at all. |