I charge thee heart of mine
I charge thee heart of mine,
Listen to my untimely surmise;
Sour summer's sewn seedlings
Wrapped in winter's warmth.
I charge thee heart of mine
Speak not, for today is now
And springs soft blossomy bloom
Shall not rise yet; that day
Oh, that day's sun will come
Take heed of what enraptures us
Kept deep within until sprouts shall rise
Then, and only then shall tongues be freed
Fie, until then, fie. Fie on the comet's tail
Let sky's flower shine into the night
Gorge ourselves on Autumn's harvest
Scant hours of pale daylight,
Overwrought by pains of dark
A book of memories forever more
Each shall pass as yester's page
How fleeting these mirages be
Tributaries of Scholars long past
Ne'er an oasis, for the mind dries out
In thoughts of what was, and what may be
Every man, a king of the past;
Every man, a peasant to what may come
Emperors of one direction, but not the other
Oh, many a doctor has prescribed a pill
To swallow for the morrow's mind
Everyday lords, everyday men
Surely there must be more
I charge thee heart of mine
I charge thee; tell me that.
Are we all but marionettes,
With unseen strings to be pulled?
Where we wear these strings I do not fathom
I charge thee, tell me heart of mine
Are you attached by the spider's thread
Sending me yearning for so much more
Lofting me into places I dare not go
Dried out wells of broken dreams
Do not request the regret of man
For upon such favour is bad return
Only seas welled with rivers flowing free
Attached to beaches by where we see
Embarking into the midnight's flight
When upon the shore, the salty hurt
I charge thee heart of mine,
Speak no more, speak no more
I shall wait for spring's inexperienced coat
Wear it proud, worn through seasonal bloom
I charge thee heart, quiet some more
I found my way ever so.
I charge thee heart of mine,
Listen to my untimely surmise;
Sour summer's sewn seedlings
Wrapped in winter's warmth.
I charge thee heart of mine
Speak not, for today is now
And springs soft blossomy bloom
Shall not rise yet; that day
Oh, that day's sun will come
Take heed of what enraptures us
Kept deep within until sprouts shall rise
Then, and only then shall tongues be freed
Fie, until then, fie. Fie on the comet's tail
Let sky's flower shine into the night
Gorge ourselves on Autumn's harvest
Scant hours of pale daylight,
Overwrought by pains of dark
A book of memories forever more
Each shall pass as yester's page
How fleeting these mirages be
Tributaries of Scholars long past
Ne'er an oasis, for the mind dries out
In thoughts of what was, and what may be
Every man, a king of the past;
Every man, a peasant to what may come
Emperors of one direction, but not the other
Oh, many a doctor has prescribed a pill
To swallow for the morrow's mind
Everyday lords, everyday men
Surely there must be more
I charge thee heart of mine
I charge thee; tell me that.
Are we all but marionettes,
With unseen strings to be pulled?
Where we wear these strings I do not fathom
I charge thee, tell me heart of mine
Are you attached by the spider's thread
Sending me yearning for so much more
Lofting me into places I dare not go
Dried out wells of broken dreams
Do not request the regret of man
For upon such favour is bad return
Only seas welled with rivers flowing free
Attached to beaches by where we see
Embarking into the midnight's flight
When upon the shore, the salty hurt
I charge thee heart of mine,
Speak no more, speak no more
I shall wait for spring's inexperienced coat
Wear it proud, worn through seasonal bloom
I charge thee heart, quiet some more
I found my way ever so.