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SIFTING THROUGH THE CINDERS
SIFTING THROUGH THE CINDERS
(T. Beechey)
Sifting through the cinders as the wind goes through its cycles
Is often like a current that's against the ebb and flow
You go at its discretion without questioning the reason
And each season finds you further than you were a day ago
Sifting through the cinders of a dwindled recollection
That's reflected on the memory in between the here and now
Somehow alters the perceptions that are kept in seclusion
And refuses to acknowledge all the pledges and the vows
Sifting through the cinders never vindicates those muted
By the persecuting finger which lingers overhead
It's often said and repeated by the cheated and the challenged
That the pendulum is dangled by the tangled lives we've led
Sifting through the cinders sometimes hinders the illusions
Which are viewed by the twilight of a nighttime rendezvous
Where you and I resemble our trembling imperfections
Misdirected yet in sequence with events both old and new
Sifting through the cinders seldom rekindles the passion
Just a flash and a flicker then the picture turns and fades
By the shades of resistance in the distant effervescence
Of incidents and accidents and senseless masquerades
