Drifter, what about her conversation?

Drifter, how about an explanation

Where you go, when you receive

And why you never let her feed

On all that truth you hold so dear

But never let another near



No one around

My, don't we love

No one around



No, to the quiet gazes

No, to the muttered phrases

No, to the utter waste of

Time and good fortune



Taster of the poetry

Of Pater, Prousi, and Socrates

What are you to do but sleep

And when are you to stop and weep

For all your inability

To mate with your own memory



No one around

My, don't we love

No one around



No, to the mindless gazes

No, to the splintered phrases

No, to the utter waste of

Time and good fortune



Singer, will the singing say it?

Singer, would such saying change it?

A whole long life spent tuning strings

And will it now mean anything

But empty chords that only bring

An endless, voiceless sorrowing



No one around

My, don't we love

No one around



No, to the frightened gazes

No, to the stuttered phrases

No, to the utter waste of

Time and good fortune



Time and good fortune