ultimate

"Free time is suicide for the wandering mind."
Once said a very good friend of mine.
It might have been me, but I cannot be sure,
For it's been quite a while since that event did occur.

No matter whats on T.V. or there in your book,
An idle mind will soon cause that familiar glazed look
Your thoughts will soon go to the one that you love,
The one you know cares, or that you hope does.

You wonder what they're doing, or where they're at now,
And you wish they were there, someway, somehow.
As you think of their face and their heartstopping smile,
You miss them more, and you dream for a while.

You look at the clock, it's getting late.
You wish you could see them, but you feel you can wait,
For you'll be together soon, if fate is kind.
Surely it knows, free time is suicide for the wandering mind.
-Ultimate, 1999

The notes that fade and drift away,
As the old man with his horn dozes in his chair.
The drum whose beat is slowly straying,
As the rain outside quietly splaters.
The dancers who finally leave the floor,
As his children grow and move away.
The unused horns that go out of tune,
As the old man loses his fire.
The tattered music that yellows and tears,
As his wife grows frail and weak.
The chart that is lost on the way to the gig,
As he lays his lifemate to rest.
The record skips. --
The man awakes.
He sadly looks at the weathered old horn,
And hears a melody long ago forgotten.
He closes his eyes and hums the tune,
As he peacefully slips away.
-Ultimate, 2000

In Chicago my love did lie. In Chicago my love did cry,
Sobbing, weeping, wondering why, why alone he had to lie.
For he was lonesome in that city, in that lonely, windy city.
What a great atrocity, that my love was in that city.
What a horrible shame and pity, that my love was in that city.

Why did fate keep us apart, was fate meant meant to break the heart?
Just when love had made it's start, unfeeling fate pulled us apart.
So my love was lying there, lying lonely, sad, and unaware.
Unaware of what I'd do, or what I'd dare, just to be with him lying there.

In solitare it came again, the longing for him deep within.
The longing to feel his soft warm skin, to kiss his sweet mouth once again.
The longings for him in my mind, their remedy I could not find.
My sanity would soon unwind, with longings for him in my mind.
My saner thoughts did quick resign, due to longings in my mind.

I then began to see his face, but it was not in it's right place.
Where his identity should have no trace, I did have visions of his face.
Then people told me I was mad, but I was merely, truely sad,
From longings for a love I had, perhaps the longings made me mad,
No, I was only truely sad, never, never was I mad.

In Chicago my love did die, and I alone would sit and cry.
I cannot help but wonder why, why my love did choose to die.
My love for him did choose to go, for reasons that I still don't know.
The reasons I hope will be soon to show, as why my love did choose to go.
Perhaps my heart already knows, but won't tell why - I'll never know.
-Ultimate, 2000

In the darkness the deed was done,
No witness to see the horrid sight.
The moon was dark - he had turned his back,
The stars had all gone away.

Few clouds still covered the dark sky,
To shield it from the pain.
The forest was quiet,
None but the rushing water was heard.
The air was heavy with death.

The sky had been weeping,
Perhaps it knew of what was to come.
The ground was too slick,
It couldn't have been stopped.

The sadness was there,
With nowhere to go.
No one would see the tragedy until daylight.
So remote was this place,
A visitor was rare at night.

The air was cold and unforgiving.
The water rushed by with ice in tow,
Flowing over the metal coffin.
The form inside was held in captivity,
But its soul was free and gone.
-Ultimate, 2000

Twas once a pansy, but now is not.
Well actually, you still are, but I'm not allowed to say so.
Why is that? - Are you denying your pansy status?
You know, there really is no escaping it.
Once a pansy, always a pansy, I say.
Not that you ever listen to what I say.
I'm just being silly, you say.
And yet. . . .
-Ultimate, 2001