Still searching for my way, the right way to be still pondering what I've done I'm still thinking what I've said, still finding from within and all that I know is still not enough I'm being held by the one shadow tormenting my soul the curving neck of a swan the slow turning of a birds head So white its plumes and feathers itse breast like the moon in water silent and tranquil it moves on the river in the calm I wander back on familiar roads I sense the marks I left on the hills I see the cuts and wounds of my deeds they make me muse on life Up the hill and the mountain I look back, I look down there flows the River of Death and here the wind in my hair
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