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All twilight people are coming forth,
to make their presence known.
Arriving by the evening breeze,
tossed and turning, they have flown
to be present for the witching hour.
They dance lightly, in the air,
rhythmically jerking by hidden string
as transistors, in their voice box,
causes them to sing,
a mournful ditty.
Who are you child,
who sits on my knee,
all dressed in purple and brown?
What is this riddle,
you just told to me,
about elephants, monkeys and clowns?
Your tale of visions
conjures, up in my mind,
a picture of events, yet to be
and reminds me of a day,
many, long years ago,
when it was I who sat on a knee.
Anguish, deep within me,
tears away my soul.
Troubled and tormented thoughts,
lie heavy in my brain.
Stealing, lying, cheating, dying,
asking of my love, again,
Dying is for other men,
it's certainly not for me.
I plan to live forever,
at least an eternity.
Those are thoughts shared by all
the children, yet to be,
unaware they can't live forever
and never will be free.