Sometimes words assail the speaker –
turn to stories or regret.
Sometimes truth will seize the seeker
and he‘ll shiver and forget.
There‘s a voice in surf and thunder,
there are eyes that pierce the day.
None can name it, it‘s the same at
every forking of the way –
I‘m the keeper.
I‘m the guardian of the tale (I‘m the stranger on the trail).
I‘m the reaper
and the sewer of your sail.
I‘m no god and yet I sire by believing what I see.
I‘m the keeper, you‘re the sleeper
and your dreams belong to me.
There‘s no guise to what I‘m giving,
I am coin and card and wheel.
Nothing‘s lost while I am living.
No one misses what I steal.
Thus I cower, culling secrets,
as I braid the paths you tread.
I forge your fears, I count your tears
and cry the ones that go unshed.
I‘m the singer.
As I sing my tales unfold (times and passions yet untold):
words that linger
while there‘s beauty to behold.
So you light your nights with meaning, dreams like little boats at sea –
time may wear them, grief may tear them,
but they still belong to me.
I‘m a fancy.
You may never realize (just a flicker in your eyes)
dreams are chancy
and all memories are lies.
In the echo of your whispers dies the truth you never knew:
Grief goes deeper – I‘m the keeper –
but my dreams belong to you.