Brook in the meadow, some ebony flow

The shape of my words in the stream (here we go)

The crook of my arm on the bar as I dream

The magic of life in the spell of a dream

Hope in the ruse of a feisty brown cod

Evading my line, now he thinks he is God

Now he will think he is God


Ascending the rim of my watery world

Assuming the shape and the mind of a girl

And whispering thoughts that I’m planning to dare

Hoping you’ll listen, and follow me there.

Dodging the clouds that may loom overhead

Even a Cod knows he’s a long time dead

Even he knows he’s a long time dead

Even he knows where to head

Bridge:

Dancing with the movement of the river

Washing the winter from my hair

Life has a way of changing everything in a single day

I do not recognize my stride today (how it’s changed) (c) Felice Borghmans 2004