How delicate the tracery of her fine lines

Like the moonlight lacetops of the evening pines

Like a song half heard through a closed door

Like an old book when you cannot read the writing anymore



How innocent her visage as my child lover lies

Pressed against the rainswept windy windows of my eyes

Like an antique etching glass design

That somehow turned out wrong

I keep looking through old varnish

At my late lover's body

Caught on ancient canvas

And decaying...disappearing

Even as I sing this song



How secretly and silently my sorrow disappears

You can't see it with your eyes or hear it with your ears

It's like a Watermark that's never there and never really gone

I keep looking through old varnish

At my late lover's body

Caught on ancient canvas

And decaying...disappearing

Even as I sing this song

Even as I sing this song

Even as I sing this song