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You can turn back the clock,
but you can't turn back time.
You can open time's lock,
but what will you find ?

If the stream has all dried,
and there's no mountain snow,
to bring a Spring tide,
there's no water to flow.

If the heart has forgotten, the mind can't relive,
there's only dim pictures, that flicker and fade,
like the reel of a film, with no feeling to give,
just a desert of dust, with no water or shade.

A life shrinking with doubt,
and a heart like a well,
gone dry in a drought,
has no story to tell.

There's a haunting of whispers,
but an absence of words,
just a half hearted wisp of
the song of grey birds.

Yet the desert will sing it's own lonely song,
in the wind and the shiver of coyote wail.
And some little lost cloud may amble along,
where the wind is the only sea it can sail.

( © 2004 - "Future Folk" Music - Betty J. Curtis )