• The clock ticks slowly, slowly on.
    Hours, minutes, days are gone.
    Still the tears stream down my face,
    delicate and falling with mysterious grace
    like a river running on through time.
    Like a melody that's played, line after line.
    Like a flower that blooms through all four seasons.
    Like love that grows for no true reason.
    Like the shadow of a tree ten thousand miles tall
    when the earth stays still and the sun never falls.
    Like a plastic ballerina that twirls and twists
    until your mind is enchanted--enveloped by mist.
    Like the hearts of two people that dance as one
    under the rainbow skies of the setting sun
    where love runs deep and hearts live on
    dancing, dancing, two shadows as one.