Words/ music: Bruce Barham
Pale blue water- color skies, lavendars mixed with gray
flame orange underneath, as the sun seizes the day.
Across this canvas a lone bird flies ,
in a race with the coming night
toward trees that now are less
that when he'd first began his flight.
Still the lone bird sings his song, still the lonebird sings
Flying over this forest floor, looking at the paths below
most of them are well trodden, they have felt the heel and toe
Others are not so clear, they are all but overgrown,
cut by those daring ones who followed their hearts
out on their own
still the lone bird sings his song,
still the lonebird sings his song
Standing on this river's edge, looking o-er to the other side
The water is not as wide, the waves are not as high
As when it washed us down
away from where we stood.
looking now we know, what was right and what was good