Walking down the misty beach

Early in the morning

I haven't any worries because

I haven't got anyone at all

I see a seagull through the haze

A figure flying toward me

Another lover of the dawn

Flying o'er the misty beach

Early in the morning

He has no words because

He hasn't got anyone at all

​

It's time to fly through misty skies

And over uncharted terrain

It's time to fly and not reason why

There's nothing to exchange and nothing to explain

​

Fantasies of all that relaxes

No memories of the daylight's taxes

Not a word for anyone else

Sifting the sands of internal wealth

The seasons never change the sands

They only move it about

And reasons don't answer the man

They only remove his doubt

 

Sifter, sifter of subtleties

And things not yet conceived 

Sift the sands of interpretation

To find what you believe

 

"Surely," you'll say

"There's more than this,

So much that I could never miss

The gems and jewels that fill the sands,"

You let them slip right through your hands

And watch the dripping dryness land

On a place with nothing beneath it

​

And I see another on the shore

A silent sifter dreaming

Another lover of the dawn

Sleeping on the misty beach

Early in the morning

I wonder if he's worried

And I wonder if he has anyone at all

​

Sifter, sifter of subtleties 

And things not yet explored

Sift and dream not of gold

For sifting's your reward

 

And know the fruit of your effort is not for you

And you will not know when you're through

Just sift it all and decide what's true

For amidst the sands the gems are few

As in the words of those around you

Subtle truths sometimes abound

Yet are not known even when found

On a place with nothing beneath it

​

One last word before I go

Take the truth in stride 

Like awakening and sleeping

It's got another side

​

The truth is like a seagull

Swooping low, then flying high

And like the sands refill with jewels

For you to find during the next low tide

I'd sing to the sand and the wind and the gulls

And I'd listen to the gentle waves

And though you cannot hear me

I sing to you anyway

​

But the tide is high and the fog is lifting

And the sands of time are slowly sifting

And I find that I am silently drifting

On a place with nothing beneath it

​

On a place with nothing beneath it

​

©1994

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