When The Tune Cannot Be Heard

Bone stiff weariness strikes me down,
On to the floor...
On to the cold wood...
The tune can still be heard,
Chords still ringing in my head.

How fast one seems to catch the idea,
And so slow it manages to slip away.
If ever...

Holding past death feeling somewhat empty?
Should it be another who drinks this water
And not the thirst of injured tongue...

Oh, please just laugh with me.
Let me know it's still within the limits of reason.
That the honest makes nothing in a dishonest realm.
And that even the best can't win all.

One hour, one minute... turn around, one second now.
It's gone. Like the past twenty years.
Where did it go... the rhythm...
I can still hear it, but I can't see it.

It's not the question of where we are going,
But more striking the absence of the horizon.
North sound comes forth.
Lend me an ear quick!
And listen how my knees fall to the ground.

Somebody dig this hole for now...
I cannot finish my grave tonight.
Tomorrow maybe...
When the rest come awake,
Maybe then I'll meet the slumber.

But no musician can tell the tale
As no poet can play the tune.
Let me sleep for tonight...
Let me dream for a moment.

Alas, I can still hear the music in the air.