Time On A String

Time on a string and the rhythm of the moon
And the turn of the tide, the harp's in tune
With the scented wind [?] (0.20)
Over sun-bleached bones, strange foreign sands
And a spiral shell in a sea-child's hands:

In the gathering season we reap the stars
And we spend the long nights — scattering
In the gathering season the fading scars
Will cease to shine, cease mattering

Like time on a string and the rhythm of the moon
And the turn of the tide, the harp's in tune
With the scented wind, spice [?] (0.55)
Over sun-bleached bones on the strange foreign sands
A spiral shell in a sea-child's hands ...

Is where the personal ley-lines
That match your pain
Channelled ancient grief
Into scars
But the patterns are changed now
And will change again
Till your hands and heart
Are full of stars

Gather the symbols of your sanity
[?] (1.26) the patterns of your reality
[?] (1.28) the symmetry
Change and change and change
Change and change and change

Like time on a string and the rhythm of the moon ...