long live our dying friend!
in the birth of his hand was the dirge of his end
cold now in a warming world
still cold as the moment we're hanging frozen in
writer of words, channel of fear
lover of life, hater of living here
come over the hills now, to your darling
dead voices are near now, hear them calling
vibrations reverberate,
in waves from a point in time and a place
tune in and you feel them sent
and all time is right now - what do we learn from him, then?
go look to his words, dont look to his past
the story goes on, the players are recast
come over the hills now, to your darling
dead voices are near now, hear them calling
what part of a million could call him a friend?
but maybe one in a thousand finds something to comiserate in
and if that one is you, then what do you see?
what would you say to have saved him,
and ooh, won't you say it to save me?
the streets are deserted, the bars are the same
one voice of the living: the town crier is calling your name