A need is only worth so much;
It has a value one must touch.
And, finding one's not worth the cost
In severed lines, in maelstroms lost,
Needs make one recognize his crutch.

The poison flowing from the ducts,
The poison bleeding from the cuts,
Is liable to get you tossed.
The price is steep, and one is weak.

If ever found in quicksand sucked
Beneath insanity or clutched
By helplessness, the hidden frost
Will choke you first; when dread exhausts
The one who never sought it such,
My price is steep and I am weak.

A fool in search of love from anywhere
Can always trick himself into a care;
Is likely such a sap he'd fall for you,
And fancy that he found himself so true
A love materialized from thin air.

Infatuation and a lonely stare,
You surely aren't taken unaware
By deedless words, a yearning boy's ague;
Take care returning lonesome lovers' cues.

I'd never blame you should you search for snares;
You're right expecting that the sails could tear.
It's safer seeing with a skeptic's skew;
For you could pick a stranger passing through
To do whatever i could do more fair.
Take care returning lonesome lovers' cues.

But aren’t there unhappy few
Who ever locked in stasis rue
The dissolution of a dream
That once they might have barely gleaned
Which withers right before their view?

And nothing–nothing!–they can do,
Their powerlessness leading to
The all-consuming vicious stream
They feed with all their sorrow's blood.

The dream is lost, they’re aging too,
And suffering is never through,
Though once so close to it it seemed.
The tumor grown from dust, it screamed,
And every second since it grew
They feed it with their sorrow's blood.

Collapsing, vibrating through walls
I yearn to reach beyond but stall;
I tripped and didn't intervene,
And freezing, trembled at the scene.
The distant dance I let enthrall.

The splendid waltz across the pall
Of torpid stars above the tall
Defenseworks built upon the skein:
Our interstellar dreams apart.

Our needs project, they freeze and scald
Within dimensions coldly called,
Proceeding from the aubergine
Sky, glamorous the guillotine
Flies down, decapitating all
Our interstellar dreams apart.

Awake at night, alone in bed,
Like many other nights ahead.
There are some lovers who must wait,
And though they often curse their fate,
More often they rejoice instead.

Their sighs like smoke hang overhead
And feed the darkling night, but red
And hot their blood within relates
Their love does not have long to wait.

And soon that long-awaited date
Will have no choice, it takes its state
As every day, once Time has said,
As every drop of passion bled
Has fertilized the patient gate,
Their love does not have long to wait.

Oh storm cloud fair, you storm cloud there,
Atlantic child of dancing air,
Wreak havoc with your trills of foam
And devastating winds that comb
The coastal settlers' ragged hair.

Come in from sea, to me, and share
The winds of change to let me dare.
Destroy my plans, destroy my home,
And fly me into the unknown.

Unleash your gusts and flood the fares,
Upend the trees and leave them where
You most desire, I'll sow the loam.
Uplift me on your winds that roam
Beyond the sandswept beaches bare;
Fly with me into the unknown.

Discard your solitude a bit,
And lift your spirits from the pit
Of worn-down home life close-confined;
And send yourself on maritime
Adventures where the spirit sits.

Beyond where matter does permit,
Come sail the waves where love acquits
And recompenses any crimes.
The prayer of love combines all split.

For love makes one unlimited;
The air above may forecast it.
It joins us in the song sublime,
The vessel of the soul so fine;
When known you're loved the rhyme is lit,
The prayer of love combines all split.

How many days can seem the same?
The storm that never leaves had came
And swallowed whole my plaintive cry
And danced around me in its eye,
Yet never even got a name.

These whipping winds, is this the game?
Or maybe I'm the one to blame?
If not too late to name you, why,
I might just name you Passion.

You swallowed me and overcame
The placid skies that left me lame.
And though you bend and rend on high,
And vie with reason and real life;
No fitter name is right to claim,
No better name than Passion.