People pass, like time on a clock. Frames of lives come and go, glimpses of something we can't have. We walk through the night, silent scribes taking the burdens of the world to our graves, as the river sleeps.
The river sleeps, the moon it's blanket , the earth it's bed. Our voices fall on silent ears, conversations lost on the wind. You were there, and I was there, and even the silence spoke mountains, as the river sleeps.
A portrait of sorrow painted on the canvas of our lives, I can tell you anything, never a judge, never a jury, just a friend with an open heart and an open mind. A simple understanding, and never misunderstood, as the river sleeps.
And just like clockwork, our frame has passed, a memory lying on the breeze. Another story, another life, another dream the river sees. A moment lost in time. As the river sleeps.