Stand-

ing

by

the

win-

dow.

eyes

up-

on

the

moon.

Hop-

ing

that

the

mem-

'ry

will

leave

her

spir-

it

soon.

She

shuts

the

doors

and

lights

and

lays

her

bod-

y

on

the

bed,

where

im-

ag-

es

and

words

are

run-

ning

deep.

She

has

too

much

pride

to

pull

the

sheets

a-

bove

her

head,

so

qui-

et-

ly

she

lays

and

waits

for

sleep.

She

stares

at

the

ceil-

ing

and

tries

not

to

think.

And

pic-

tures

the

chain

she's

been

try-

ing

to

link

a-

gain,

but

the

feel-

ing

is

gone,

and

wa-

ter

can't

cov-

er

her

mem-

o-

ry;

and

ash-

es

can't

an-

swer

her

pain.

God,

give

me

the

pow-

er

to

take

breath

from

a

breeze

and

call

life

from

a

cold

met-

al

frame.

In

with

the

ash-

es

or

up

with

the

smoke

from

the

fire.

With

wings

up

in

heav-

en

or

here,

ly-

ing

in

bed,

palm

of

her

hand

to

my

head,

now

and

for-

ev-

er

curled

in

my

heart

and

the

heart

of

the

world.