Still searching for my way, the right way to be
Still pondering what I've done
I'm still thinking what I've said
Still finding from within
And all that I know is still not enough
I'm being held by the one shadow tormenting my soul
The curving neck of the swan
The slow turning of a bird's head
So white its plumes and feathers
Its breast like the moon in water
Silent and tranquil it moves
On the river in the calm
I wander back on familiar roads
I sense the marks I left on the hills
I see the cuts and wounds of my deeds
They make me muse on life
Up the hill and the mountain
I look back, I look down
There flows the River of Death
And here, the wind in my hair