Why did we take the rough road
when the trolley rode easily by?
Why did we climb the high hill
when the valley lay safe at our side?
Oh,
who sent us out
in the twilight
to come back with a basket of words
just to fashion
some future quotation that this desperate world so deserves?
Perhaps it was just something foolish,
or the dare of an angel at best.
Just a chance,
the ghost of your poet,
whose sad songs will never rest.
Why did we drink the cold rain
with the soup so warm on the stove?
And why did we wind up alone here
singing melodies of love?
We did it simply to do it.
We did it to be tender yet tough.
We did it for the beauty in the music.
Isn't that explanation enough?
Perhaps it was just something foolish,
or the dare of an angel at best.
Just a chance, the ghost of your poet,
whose old songs will never rest.
Perhaps it was just something foolish,
or the dare of an angel at best.
How to dance with the ghost of a poet
whose old songs will never rest.
Mmmhmm....