Ebbing Memory

The spirit of heartbreak is singing his psalm,
To the disillusioned orphan who sits on the sand,
Waiting for the sea
To wash away the memories.

I stand on the causeway to face the oncoming tide,
Listening to the roar of the surf,
I feel the spray of the ocean wash the tears from my eyes,
As the crimson sun sinks below the earth.
I feel the darkness envelop me,
To be lost in a veil of shadows
Merging with the misty sea,
In celebration of my sorrow.
And I swear the wind is whispering your name.

I try to pluck a memory from the wind-driven rain,
But the raindrops dissolve in my hand,
And the playback of your picture is warping in its frame,
Melting, like my tear drops, in the sand.
Paradise sinks before my eyes,
Deep beneath the ocean waves,
And I feel the cold water rise
Of an encroaching salty grave.
And I swear the wind is whispering your name.

Like King Canute I sit upon the throne of sorrow's ocean,
I have no urge to drive back the tide,
Instead I court the funeral hearse of the mighty Neptune,
To commiserate all the tears I've cried.
I feel the water lapping at my feet,
The onset of casual obscurity,
For I fear if I carry out this deed,
No one will even remember me.
And I swear the wind is whispering your name.

I feel a presence flickering within a candlelight,
It brings a message of resurgence,
A memory is forming within the boundaries of my mind,
And I find myself trying to resurface
Within my own reflection,
Rising with the phoenix
From the ashes of negligence
And I feel redemption's bliss.
And I swear the wind is whispering your name.

The spirit of heartbreak no longer sings his psalm,
The disillusioned orphan no longer bears my name,
I sail alone on the sea,
I'm just an ebbing memory.