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Where would the poets be without the moon and the stars?
No bright night jewels to compare the lover's eyes to
No twinkling company to light their dark hours
No early morning crescent to mark their dreams and moods
And if the sun always shone?
No melancholy gray
To condense their thoughts like fog
Or hot breath on a window pane
Where would the poets be without the rain?
To wet their skin
Let them begin To sprout their seed
Make them believe
Cause words pile up and hang around
Linger near the feelings where they fell
Waiting for someone to write them down
Waiting for someone with a story to tell
But there's no melody without silence
There's no rhythm without the spaces in between
What some may say is beautiful
Others think is obscene
The poets know what I mean
I know the poets know