When the Time Comes
Words and Music by Thomas Gannett
Apogees meet, as we pass;
arms extend, fingers touch, do not clasp:
instants traced side by side
along paths that divide.
To our long roads we repair,
distance ourselves. In our young hearts we dare
imagine we belong
but to the horizon.
When the time comes I'll be there to meet you,
holding my hand open, out to.
I can reach no further than through,
through to you.
Bright objects glimmer ahead,
ever more distant, like true words unsaid.
Refracted in stardust,
mock beacons will guide us.
Words left unspoken resound
leaden and still, as my feet meet the ground;
and dust rises to mask
all bright objects that pass.
When it’s all said, and we meet in the light,
holding our heads up, and eyes bright,
and long roads growing dim in our sight,
then it will be all right.
When that time comes I'll be there to greet you,
holding my hand open, out to.
I can reach no further than through,
through to you.