| ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| >> Static Item >> Lyrics >> Entertainment >> ID #521806 |
| |||||||||||||
|
Memories of Stories To the tune of Barbra Streisand’s “Memories” Stories, how they come in the midnight, Pouring in through my memory, begging to be told; In the midnight the wordless tales collect in my mind, As my paper fills with words. Stories, all alone with my stories, I can fly with my fancies, and touch beautiful worlds, I see thespians beginning to gather their props, As the stories start to live. Every story has a heartbeat, a life that is its own, A passion emitted, a message transmitted, to everyone who reads it; Daylight, it is coming and I’ll wish I had slept through the midnight, But I mustn’t give in, For the tall tales must be reborn into the night, Or the stories won’t begin. Burned out hopes, and smoky dreams, a tale of woe evolving, Someone suffers and another one triumphs as a new day is dawning; I want to be soaring o’er mountains filled with the grandeur of nature, For a day in the sun If you know me you’ll understand the happiness I have, When a new tale I’ve begun.
© Copyright 2002 Writer of the Winds (UN: caracas at Writing.Com).
All rights reserved.
Writer of the Winds has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work. |