From a page in a book that I found, from the sound of a word written down, telling me, telling all, strange shadows fall. Fingers trembling, I read to the end, then the light seemed to wither and bend, and the words seemed to call, strange shadows fall. Who to run to or who to tell, who would listen to me? Just the sound of a ringing bell, and the nights running free. Then the wind took the page from my sight, I was left all alone in the night, where the dew gently falls, strange shadows call. Time will pass but the words, they remain, and I dream of them ever again. Telling me, telling all, strange shadows go. www.mooji.org
