It's the force by which we're driven,
it's the bond that makes us stay,
and we spend what we are given
by whiling it away.
Time's bestowing and bereaving,
time is travelling every heart.
What will be your time for leaving?
What will be your way to part?
Some are praying, some are weeping,
calling out to a love or friend,
some slip away while sleeping,
many smile before the end.
It's a Matter of Delaying,
but the days are moving fast.
Though we win every round we're playing
the one that counts - comes last.
We adapt to pain and grieving,
friends are lost around each bend.
We carry on, still unbelieving
that we'll follow where they went.
There's a gate we'll pass for certain,
there's a trickster we can't cheat,
there's a man behind the curtain,
there's a foe we can't defeat.
Life's dissolving as we hold it,
to the distant, ceaseless call,
yet we're walking on blindfolded,
and we're singing as we fall.
We pretend we're always staying,
we repress the nagging fear.
In this habit of delaying
we are losing year by year.
But at night our dread is thriving
of a path none ever shared.
When at last the hour's arriving
it will find us unprepared.
Some are praying, some are weeping,
calling out to a love or friend,
some slip away while sleeping,
many smile before the end.
Now the pain and fear's subsiding,
as I linger for a while,
sure, at last, as sleep's betiding,
I'll be one of those - who smile.
For Adrian
Eva, 21st of May 2002