Sun
-
Don't look into the sun.
-
Careful you don't get too close.
Careful you don't burn.
What do you see,
Each day as you run through the grass?
Surely not the ancient grassland trees,
Bent in age, laced with stubborn vines.
Not the lonesome eagles,
Circling the sky, calling out to receive no reply.
Are you blinded by the sun?
By the brilliance and magnificence it holds,
Are you bewitched by its mysteries,
Enchanted by how its named taboo?
Careful you don't get too close.
Careful you don't burn.
Do you greet the morning glow,
Each day as the sun inches up to the sky?
Are you there to mourn,
Each day as it sets?
You climb the sycamore trees,
And standing on the highest branch,
You reach up to grasp the rays escaping your fingers.
Careful you don't get too close.
Careful you don't burn.
You ask questions day and night,
Wondering about the thick blanket of night,
About the fairies, the spirits in the grass.
But your eyes die a little each day,
Already they are fading.
That sizzling spark of life constant in your soul,
I see it diminish bit by bit.
Careful you don't get too close,
Careful you don't burn.
But it came one day,
When you left before dawn woke up.
You climbed the tallest mountain,
And through sweat and blood,
You hulled yourself up the mountain's mighty face.
We saw you standing boldly at the top,
Your face fixed upon the sun.
Our cries and pleas ring out -- "Come down, come down!"
But you take no heed.
Just beyond your reach.
It captivates you,
Those rays striking into your dead eyes--
Does it hurt your eyes?
And spreading imaginary wax wings,
You take off.
Careful you don't get too close.
Careful you don't burn,
Because then it'll be too late to save you.