Will there be a dance for me
in the music of today
And would I match her tune
If she ever lends her hand?
A single silver sheen
on my private lake, asleep
at the twilight of despair
The waters may tighten
as a drum before the score
and the whirlpools and eddies
might be clashing just below
But all they see are the pines hanging over
with the shadows slicing sunbeams
and the mist of mosquitoes darting there
over the water mask I wear
Put it on
if you are to know me
This silver skin will comfort two
