|
He was crazy of course
|
From the first she must have known it
|
But still she went on with him
|
And she never once had shown it
|
And she took him off the street
|
And she dried his tears of grieving
|
She listened to his visions
|
She believed in his believe-ins
|
|
Oh, he was the sun burning bright and brittle
|
And she was the moon shining back his light a little
|
He was a shooting star
|
She was softer and more slowly
|
He could not make things possible
|
But, she could make them holy
|
|
He was dancing to some music
|
No one else had ever heard
|
He'd speak in unknown languages
|
She would translate every word
|
And then when the world was laughing
|
At his castles in the sky
|
She'd hold him in her body
|
Till he once again could fly
|
|
Oh, he was the sun burning bright and brittle
|
And she was the moon shining back his light a little
|
He was a shooting star
|
She was softer and more slowly
|
He could not make things possible
|
But, she could make them holy
|
|
Well, she gave him a daughter
|
And she gave him a son
|
She was a mother, and a wife,
|
And a lover when the day was done
|
He was too far gone for giving love
|
What he offered in its stead
|
Was the knowledge she was the only thing
|
That was not in his head
|
|
He took off East one morning
|
Towards the rising sun's red glow
|
She knew he was going nowhere
|
But of course she let him go
|
And as she stood and watched him dwindle
|
Much too empty to be sad
|
He reappeared beside her saying,
|
"You're all I've ever had"
|
|
Oh, he was the sun burning bright and brittle
|
And she was the moon shining back his light a little
|
He was a shooting star
|
She was softer and more slowly
|
He could not make things possible
|
But, she could make them holy
|
Holy
|
|
|
|
-----------------
|
Shooting Star
|
| Harry Chapin |
