Music of the Spheres

Running through the forest, and swimming in the stream --
life is but a nightmare and death is but a dream.
Feet on stone are pounding, the dancers jump and whirl,
food and drink make merry, no pain could stop the swirl.
As long as we have voices, and ears are left to hear,
we will still have Bacchus and the music of the spheres.

Crashing like the cymbals as suspense and conflict rise,
drowning in the big drum's beat, drowning in surmise.
Sighing like the silver flute and wishing on a star,
wailing with the violin for something very far.
As long as we have hands to play and ears are left to hear,
we will have the Phantom and the music of the spheres.

Crying in the sunshine, or weeping in the rain;
running towards a one last hope or fleeing from the pain.
Always saying "next time" while thinking of the last,
the present is forgotten between planning and the past.
As long as there are birds and we still notice that they're here,
we will have the beauty of the music of the spheres.