It is not my time yet

Voices of all that have gone before

Run like the river down

No different are you a child becoming a man

Dance the last in your time

Mind tries to grasp the vision but it is lost

For none have passed this way

Hands like a woman of leisure no marks soft

Long fingers that stretch across keys

Sad eyes turned down with view of perfection

Lost in a bottle promises

Gait suggests many hours setting few on the run

As the director of many to bid

Mind soft with the dreams other placed

Vision owned almost dead

Empty look result of the soul lost in the view

Never holding a child or a God

Place the ten in my pocket as you walk on

Sorrow fills my heart you are lost