Up on a hill, as the day dissolves
|
With my pencil turning moments into line
|
High above in the violet sky
|
A silent silver plane - it draws a golden chain
|
|
One by one, all the stars appear
|
As the great winds of the planet spiral in
|
Spinning away, like the night sky at Arles
|
In the million insect storm, the constellations form
|
|
On a hill, under a raven sky
|
I have no idea exactly what I've drawn
|
Some kind of change, some kind of spinning away
|
With every single line moving further out in time
|
|
And now as the pale moon rides (in the stars)
|
Her form in my pale blue lines (in the stars)
|
And there, as the world rolls round (in the stars)
|
I draw, but the lines move round (in the stars)
|
There, as the great wheels blaze (in the stars)
|
I draw, but my drawing fades (in the stars)
|
And now, as the old sun dies (in the stars)
|
I draw, and the four winds sigh (in the stars)
|
|
-----------------
|
Spinning Away
|
John Cale |