There isn't quite much that I remember
From her singing days,
Her and the two of them upon the stage
Before the thoughts of love and science
Came into the picture

But I do know, what I do recall
Is someone just like her
Singing ballards to me

But she is dead
Don't ever take me back.

It's possible to have haunts and dreams
After all these years of practice lack
And habits still show
Between bouts of regrettible self-doubt
(Can you still do it?)
But if not,
The prayer filled hope that
The talent's passed on to other children.

Maybe another prophecy's been fulfilled
When three songtresses walk the lights again
Filling the air they breathe and cherish
With perfect love and perfect trust
With friendship's love and friendship's hopes

Maybe another prophecy's been fulfilled
When the woman I love
Somehow holds
The only copy of a record of a dead world
And a deader songstress

With the songs she's listened to are
Remembered in the old and nostalgic
Filling her with the thought of a romance
I wouldn't dare pursue
When no one else is around.

How would it feel to be in her place
In the stage
In the spotlight?
I'd be on the side, supporting.
I'd be on the other side, enhancing.
I'd be dead center, strong.