Tired and sleepless we grow
Time reminds us of time
And we try to forget
The deeds of our past
This is what it's like
In the idleness of our passions
-
Ever wandering onward
In a field colored regret
While Hell becomes less mystery
And Heaven, a charlatan's act
This is what it's like
In the idleness of our passions
-
A pillow or refuge
To sink to other lands
Where this nightmare turns sweet
The shatters to daybreak
This is what it's like
In the idleness of our passions
-
Close our eyes tightly
See what can be felt
Draw from inner sanctums
And express the unexpressed
This is what it's like
When we finally grasp our passions
Chris Townsend
1999
