It's the writing in your mind that forms the history of your soul
As you wander on your journey towards a destiny supposed
The naked body shows should only a part of it appear.
And when the eyes decide the way, the path ahead may conjure fears.
And although the mouth may spill, tomorrow never cries,
It has no shape, it has no form, it has no alibis.
I see a form...a man...a god...he takes me to his soul,
Convicting me of truth in thoughts, detouring future pain
Convicting me of truth in thoughts to expedite my goal,
Convicting me of truth in thoughts, not loss but all to gain
And although the mouth may spill, tomorrow never cries,
It has no shape, it has no form, it has no alibis.
The grave is there, for all must die & move towards the morrow.
What lies ahead could be a bliss could be a lake of sorrow.
No proof to show, could be a gate of angelic attorneys,
To ward you off or lead you on to yet another journey.
And although the mouth may spill, tomorrow never cries,
It has no shape, it has no form, it has no alibis.
By Stephen Shearer In 2001
Copyright 2005, All Rights Reserved
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