Angel of our time, can you hear me?
Angel of our life, you're very dear to me.
An open book is read from, a story that's well known, and the frown that is on your face the only emotion that is shown.
For deep your illness like the night and surely now this has to be the last fight.
Her grip on my hand is fading fast, as I recall all the many things and places from the past.
We would live, we would love, we would run.
We would walk hand in hand into the setting sun.
I hoped we might run again but I guess we never will, for now her eyelids flicker open once and then they rest quite still.
And so she crept into darkness in a shimmering silver gown and a face of great beauty that had lost its furrowed frown, and my friend, he of sadness did pass the book around, so we clutched it tight between our hands and whispered a prayer our tears did drown.
Perhaps we will meet again someday, perhaps we should not believe.
For sorrow has filled our minds with haze, sent forward to deceive.
Angel of our time, can you hear me? Angel of our life, you were very dear to me.
Although time has claimed you, live you on always, on that island of sun where we both shall run...called memory.
