The truest lines
I've ever written
Have come to me
From those I've bitten
Moments in time
Captured in memory
An arrow shot just so
It breaks through my armory
The best you can do
Is try to find harmony
In days that seem filled
With endless monotony
Long ago I promised
To tell the truth
To lie would be unkind
To lie would be uncouth
But the truth has a way
Of reminding me
It's never that easy
To find harmony
So I go back: To the white of the paper
The black of my pen
I go back to times when I was fooled again
So I go back: To the blush of the morning
The thrill of the night
I go back to what I feel is right
The best lie
I ever told
Was that it would be easy
Just to grow old
Age has a way
of reminding you
pain can be tragic
But you've got to stay true
In another time
I was a travelling bard
But time has had it's say
and I became hard
of reminding you
pain can be tragic
But you've got to stay true
In another time
I was a travelling bard
But time has had it's say
and I became hard
So I go back: To the white of the paper
The black of my pen
I go back to times when I was fooled again
So I go back: To the blush of the morning
The thrill of the night
I go back to what I feel is right
Throw your papers on the fire
Watch the smoke dance on the wind
Tell me baby, can I go back again
Listen to the prophets and the lies they tell
Find solace in a stranger who releases you from your own hell
So I go back: To the white of the paper
The black of my pen
I go back to times when I was fooled again
So I go back: To the blush of the morning
The thrill of the night
I go back to try to figure out how to make it right
Not a prayer in the world could save us
The black of my pen
I go back to times when I was fooled again
So I go back: To the blush of the morning
The thrill of the night
I go back to what I feel is right
Throw your papers on the fire
Watch the smoke dance on the wind
Tell me baby, can I go back again
Listen to the prophets and the lies they tell
Find solace in a stranger who releases you from your own hell
So I go back: To the white of the paper
The black of my pen
I go back to times when I was fooled again
So I go back: To the blush of the morning
The thrill of the night
I go back to try to figure out how to make it right
Not a prayer in the world could save us