Upon an early morning I emerged
From the heat of the concrete
To the blissful floating chill of the dew
and the murmurs of the groggy blue giant
To the lighthouse I stepped
the grass folding away gently underneath
And I saw then an old man perched
atop that sword of rust, so precariously
His flesh faded away, held by crumbling bone
and his eyes too dry to weep
Who was this man, I did not know
Why did his eyes know me?
Watch for the man who watches over, they say
from the tower of light, whispering his song
He was a sailor and a lover once
and now he watches the sea in wist
His arms to weak to conquer her in the storm
as once he so passionately did
Watch for the man who watches over, they say
from the tower of light, whispering his song
They say he never moved from there,
not even when taken by love
he watched her laugh and weep
and bloom and whither within the arms
of another till she passed on,
without his mark upon her
Watch for the man who watches over, they say
from the tower of light, whispering his song
He does not move, in neither dark nor day
Had anyone ever asked why
or was it beauty for the blind alone
And though it did the whim did take me
to ask him of why he stayed, the whim
in disinterest fluttered past and I soon followed
