A destitute
And weary playwright
Blind and sick
A wretch am I
Legs of stone
My sacred birthright
Won\'t find rest
Unless I fly
There is a song I can\'t remember
It lives inside
My shaking bones
It slowly breathes a gentle whisper
Then rises up
In holy moans
At the top
I find destruction
Crashing waves
Unclouded sight
This hymn is
Divine instruction
A lost path
A lantern bright
I am a bold
And tired actor
Only a ghost
Holding a tome
There is a song I can\'t remember
Lets me dream
I have a home