Virginia J. Poli (aka: soft`rain)
1998 

                      Nuclear Blast

                         grandpa, tell us
                         again
                         please
                         how did it feel
                         when the airy breeze
                         touched your cheek
                         did it make you laugh
                         at its reveilles
                         as it danced in the sky
                         played with the trees

                         grandpa, tell us
                         more
                         we promise to study
                         harder
                         if you mention the
                         shore
                         with white cresting waves
                         and sailing ships
                         brimming with lure
                         did you feel it grandpa
                         the mist on the moor

                         grandpa, tell us
                         we implore
                         how did it feel
                         the dirt from the land
                         was it silky
                         maybe slippery 
                         held in the hand
                         could you feel it grandpa
                         the sunshine in the sand

                         grandpa, tell us 
                         again
                         really?
                         the wind could
                         make you sneeze
                         they knew
                         still we pay
                         for their antiquities
                         its okay
                         this glassy dome
                         but grandpa 
                         whisper again
                         your place called 
                         home
                         sweet home

                         yes, come closer
                         I'll tell you
                         again
                         they were magical
                         those days
                         the meadows painted
                         with rainbow bouquets
                         hearing the raindrops
                         bounce on the quays
                         the rustle of the wheat
                         as it bends and sways
                         the stream trickled
                         a song, lively and gay
                         across the valley
                         and down to the bay
                         cities of people
                         until
                         that fateful day
                         gone
                         nothing left
                         except 
                         these scars
                         marked
                         in a searing flash
                         and shaded memories
                         of home
                         sweet...

                         yes, come closer
                         forget the dome
                         I'll tell you
                         again
                         of home
                         sweet home...
Click BACK on your browser to return to the main page.
1