Drifter, what about her conversation?
Drifter, how about an explanation --
Where you go, when you recede;
And why you never let her feed
On all that truth you hold so dear
But never let another near?

No one around --
My, don't we love? --
No one around.

No -- to the quiet gazes.
No -- to the muttered phrases.
No -- to the utter waste of
Time and good fortune.

Taster of the poetry,
Of Pater, Proust, and Socrates...
What are you to do but sleep?
And when are you to stop and weep
For all you inability
To mate with your own memory?

No one around --
My, don't we love? --
No one around.

No -- to the endless gazes.
No -- to the splintered phrases.
No -- to the utter waste of
Time and good fortune.

Singer, will the singing say it?
Singer, will such saying change it?
A whole long life spent tuning strings,
And will it now mean anything
But empty chords that only bring
And endless, voiceless sorrowing?

No one around --
My, don't we love? --
No one around.

No -- to the frightened gazes.
No -- to the stuttered phrases.
No -- to the utter waste of
Time and good fortune.

Time and good fortune...