The skies are grey,
My mind, now blank.
I cannot go another day,
Staring into this empty plank.

It shouldn't be dull and grey,
Cause it should be a colourful array!
For me to be proud of,
But now, I'd rather give it a shove.

But what happens when that fire inside you dies?
What happens then?
Do you have to keep telling them lies
And asking yourselves when?

Or maybe the fire hasn't died,
Dimmed is all. I thought it lied.
For a passion like this, don't disappear,
Maybe it's hiding itself under the pier.

But the fire inside you does die.
One day,
Someday.
And I'm afraid that day is near.

Under the starry night sky I sit,
With my binoculars on my lap.
I looked on as they stars started to knit,
A beautiful, star-dusted map.

Beneath the umbrella I stand,
A bouquet of flowers in my hand.
The wind picked it up, sweeping it away,
Now it's a memory, no longer part of the day.