Dedicated to a friend of mine, named after the vast blue…your life has been difficult, and your spirit remains steadfast in its resolve. You have a lot to teach us, and I sing to you. When i hear the footsteps in the morn on the bus station, I think of you.
A harmony of souls that praise,
in the hours of the morn,
to the Glory of the dawn.
A ringing melody they sing,
Their song to him, a comfort brings.
A symphony like flowing tide,
Beneath which his small fears may hide.
The air is still but echoes speak,
voices rise but their song is weak.
There is a discord in their hymn,
though like a sweet music to him.
They sing praise to the coming night
he lifts his eyes to waking bright.
He think back to his fears of old,
in sun’s rays, small fears have no hold
The coming day does stem his spirit.
The shudders in the morning feel it.
Pulls a drag on cigarette,
inner turmoil causes fret.
His shaking frame begins to break,
The echoes now sing, for his sake.
Sing for me,