Sifter
by Doug Midgley and John Ashcraft

Walking down the misty beach
Early in the morning
I haven't any worries because
I haven't got anyone at all

I see a seagull through the haze
A figure flying toward me
Another lover of the dawn
Flying o'er the misty beach
Early in the morning
He has no words because
He hasn't got anyone at all

It's time to fly through misty skies
And over uncharted terrain
It's time to fly and not reason why
There's nothing to exchange and nothing to explain

Fantasies of all that relaxes
No memories of the daylight's taxes
Not a word for anyone else
Sifting the sands of internal wealth
The seasons never change the sands
They only move it about
And reasons don't answer the man
They only remove his doubt

Sifter, sifter of subtleties
And things not yet conceived
Sift the sands of interpretation
To find what you believe

"Surely," you'll say
"There's more than this,
So much that I could never miss
The gems and jewels that fill the sands,"
You let them slip
Right through your hands
And watch the dripping dryness land
On a place with nothing beneath it

And I see another on the shore
A silent sifter dreaming
Another lover of the dawn
Sleeping on the misty beach
Early in the morning
I wonder if he's worried
And I wonder if he has anyone at all

Sifter, sifter of subtleties
And things not yet explored
Sift and dream not of gold
For sifting's your reward

And know the fruit of your effort is not for you
And you will not know when you're through
Just sift it all and decide what's true
For amidst the sands the gems are few
As in the words of those around you
Subtle truths sometimes abound
Yet are not known even when found
On a place with nothing beneath it

One last word before I go
Take the truth in stride
Like awakening and sleeping
It's got another side

The truth is like a seagull
Swooping low, then flying high
And like the sands refill with jewels
For you to find during the next low tide
I'd sing to the sand and the wind and the gulls
And I'd listen to the gentle waves
And though you cannot hear me
I sing to you anyway

But the tide is high and the fog is lifting
And the sands of time are slowly sifting
And I find that I am silently drifting
On a place with nothing beneath it
On a place with nothing beneath it


©1994