Thus Far Songtext

von Wings

Thus Far

Reach for the doctrine I am;
Oh, scholars so trivial
With witless prosodies of thine
Thou wield mimic desolation
Never semantic pain...

Thus far
Do I pine for thee?

Like melting of snow
So sure yet so slow
Is the poets' craft
Thus done

All the sorrows, my silent syllables
Who intempereth with life
Shall drunk with emotion of
Stentorian choir, orchestra of fall
That I recite with awe
But lo, no word can grasp
That spark

Thus far
Do I pine for me?
Bereave over a gift
That's forced, not given

Like melting of snow
So sure yet so slow
Is the poets' craft
Adored?