The pigeon brings good tidings
Beckoning you forward
Like a siren its message enticing
Drawing you within seas of success
I see your battlefields
Each and every one
How many lie dead
Perhaps war may be won without lives lost
Yet every shift in the sand creates
A crack on the earth

Some are blind, they cannot see
They utter praises, heaps upon heaps
Bringing good tidings
Some are dumb, they cannot speak
They merely look on, glance and cringe
Smile when they catch a glimpse
Of passions long forgotten
Long abandoned

Where is the beginning, where is the end
Where does one plan the arival of good tidings
When does one begin
When did one begin
When did you end

Shifts in the sand
Cracks on the earth
Visible raw scratched torched
Line after line the portrait is changed
Angle through angle a sculpture is crafted
Word by word a mask is lowered
Past and present do look one and the same
And the future bears good tidings

Love ends where alteration finds
A flower grows where another has fallen
When were you replaced by memories
When did I become just good tidings