Verse I The light be not of colours bright, But rather naught at all; The painted heavens deceive the eye, Like shadows on a wall. I shall not place my faith therein, Nor bow before the sky; For sorrow walks with joy alike, And neither asks us why. Verse II Speak thus unto the ancient stones, Who neither weep nor sing; They rest beneath the turning years, Unmoved by earthly spring. The trees did laugh as I passed by, Within the forest deep; They know the roots that pierce the dark, Where silent secrets sleep. Chorus And I, a wanderer of dust, With footsteps faint and small, Do trace a path upon the earth That time shall soon recall. The roots descend where dreams dare not, Through caverns far below; Whilst mine are scattered to the wind, With nowhere left to grow. Verse III The brook discoursed in silver tongues, Of kingdoms lost to rain; The raven perched upon an oak And whispered of my vain. For every hope I held aloft Was fashioned out of mist; A castle built of morning fog, Too frail for mortal fist. Bridge What is the sun but borrowed fire? What is the moon but stone? And what are we but passing thoughts Who fear to be alone? The stars may burn a thousand years, Yet answer not our plea; The forest knows a deeper truth Than learned men at sea. Final Chorus And I, a wanderer of dust, Shall leave no grand decree; The trees shall stand, the stones remain, Long after memory. The colours fade, the sky grows dim, The night receives its due; And all that seemed eternal once Dissolves into the blue.
