I have gone from rags to riches in the sorrow of the night,
in the violence of a summer's dream, in the chill of a wintry light;
in the bitter dance of loneliness, fading into space,
in the broken mirror of innocence on each forgotten face;
I hear the ancient footsteps, like the motion of the sea,
sometimes I turn, there's someone there, other times it's only me;
I am hanging in the balance of a perfect finished Plan,
like every sparrow falling, like every grain of sand. (B. Dylan, "Every Grain of Sand.")
Sist sett
