Out from my window
thoughts gently fade across brick and stone.
Lights from the offices embroider the night
as I pause alone, stitched into glass,
a grey silhouette, well framed in moments lost.
Child, oh child, do you know it was not you I left?
While dreaming my dreams, I woke up and found my world
split in half.
Tell me now that you’re dreaming still.
When just a child, I gathered up daylight with greedy hands.
At night I would sing out and fill all the darkness with rainbow lands.
Alone, in my room, I knew I was free;
I was safe and sound and always summer green.
Alone at her window, I wonder, what does my child sing?
Does she remember her father, like sunlight, like coming spring?
Or am I well framed, fingers pressed against the glass?
Child, sweet child, come to the window and see
How up in the sky the blue and the white are eyes for thee.
When I sing there, for miles it rings.
We take up our lives in each dream we make. And then
We lose some of life with each dream we break.
How can I tell you this?
Child, oh child.
Child, sweet child.