The paintings Turner threw away
The greatest one he never made
A Chopin impromptu that nobody heard
But him
A sunken ship that won′t be found
A falling tree that makes no sound
The way that you are with no one around
But me
To touch a frozen waterfall, a flower at a funeral
A strange kind of beautiful
Singing to an empty hall, silence at the curtain call
You are unusual to me
The information in a kiss
Tells of things the words have missed
A moment of you, the last on my lips
Each night
To see a star with naked eyes and know it has already died
Or a comet fly only once in a lifetime
To know just enough
To know we know nothing at all
To touch a frozen waterfall, a flower at a funeral
A strange kind of beautiful
Singing to an empty hall, silence at the curtain call
You are unusual to me
Tears of emperors as they fall
The sound of soldiers at the door
A strange kind of beautiful
Writer(s): Bruno Major, Finlay George Robson
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