|
|
| tell me when you've dragged yourself |
| through the promised land, |
| tell me when you've felt the light |
| and its warmth upon your hand, |
| tell me when you've found yourself |
| another answer which to seek, |
| tell me when you've finished this |
| made stronger, yet still weak, |
| tell me when the end of this |
| begins to draw high, |
| then lay your head to rest, |
| release your pent-up-sigh, |
| tell me of your journey |
| as the night begins to die, |
| tell me what you've seen |
| that I may too have sight |
| tell me where you've been |
| while I sat, still in night, |
| and dreamed a dream of the near-to-day |
| that you would come to me, |
| and tell me all things you know |
| so I can imagine, what it's like, to be. |