Late in the night
As the dancing mists roll across the moonlit land
I sit alone, just
Thought, dreams, Bowie's voice, and me.
"...Toll the bells..."
The radio is my friend
I shake my head at this absurdity
Leave the room and building
And let the mists envelope me
"...Pay the private eye..."
His voice echoes throughout the mists
Transporting me to another world
Of castles and kings, dragons and faerie
A place where all dreams come true
Then the morning sun breaks through
Burning the enchanted mists away
The visions fade, taking the fantastical
But Bowie's voice remains
"...Twentieth century dies..."
This document last updated Saturday, 15-Apr-2000 15:37:45 EDT