(Brooker / Fisher / Reid)
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For you (whose eyes were opened wide whilst mine refused to see)
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I'm sore in need of saving grace. Be kind and humour me
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I'm lost amidst a sea of wheat
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where people speak but seldom meet
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And grief and laughter, strange but true
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Although they die, they seldom cry
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An ode by any other name I know might read more sweet
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Perhaps the sun will never shine upon my field of wheat
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But still in closing, let me say
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for those too sick, too sick to see
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though nothing shows, yes, someone knows
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I wish that one was me
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-----------------
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Quite Rightly So
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| Procol Harum |
