The partitions in the camp were thin and did not extend clear to the top of the rooms, and as I was always the first up I would dress softly so as not to wake the others, and sneak out into the sweet outdoors and start out in the canoe, keeping close along the shore in the long shadows of the pines. I guess I remembered clearest of all the early mornings, when the lake was cool and motionless, remembered how the bedroom smelled of the lumber it was made of and of the wet woods whose scent entered through the screen. You remember one thing, and that suddenly reminds you of another thing. It is strange how much you can remember about places like that once you allow your mind to return into the grooves which lead back. I was sure that the tarred road would have found it out and I wondered in what other ways it would be desolated. I wondered how time would have marred this unique, this holy spot -the coves and streams, the hills that the sun set behind, the camps and the paths behind the camps. On the journey over to the lake I began to wonder what it would be like. I took along my son, who had never had any fresh water up his nose and who had seen lily pads only from train windows. A few weeks ago this feeling got so strong I bought myself a couple of bass hooks and a spinner and returned to the lake where we used to go, for a week's fishing and to revisit old haunts. I have since become a salt-water man, but sometimes in summer there are days when the restlessness of the tides and the fearful cold of the sea water and the incessant wind which blows across the afternoon and into the evening make me wish for the placidity of a lake in the woods. We returned summer after summer-always on August 1st for one month. We all got ringworm from some kittens and had to rub Pond's Extract on our arms and legs night and morning, and my father rolled over in a canoe with all his clothes on but outside of that the vacation was a success and from then on none of us ever thought there was any place in the world like that lake in Maine. Can no one hear my cry? You are the oceans grey waves destined to seek life beyond the shore, just out of reach.One summer, along about 1904, my father rented a camp on a lake in Maine and took us all there for the month of August. Within my ancient heart dwells madness amd pride. The rain fall, but can’t wash away the mud. Not day nor night, wrong nor right, for truth and peace you’ll fight Sing with me a song of silence and blood. Night breaks through the day, hard as a stone, lost in thoughts all alone The path you walk on belongs to destiny, just let it flow All of your joy and your pain will fall like the tide, let it flow Life is not just filled with happiness, nor sorrow Even the thorn in your heart, in time it may become a rose A burdened heart, sinks into the ground. The black pillar cracks beneath its weight. A familiar disguise Sing with me a song of conquest and fate. Yet the waters ever change, flowing like time, the path is yours to climb Embrace the dark, you call a home, gaze upon an empty white throne. Dawn breaks through the gloom, white as a bone, lost in thoughts all alone You are the oceans grey waves destined to seek life beyond the shore, just out of reach. Embrace the brand new day Sing with me a song of birthrights and love. Yet the waters ever change, flowing like time, the path is yours to climb In the white light, a hand reaches through, a double edged blade cuts your heart in two. You are the oceans grey waves destined to seek life beyond the shore, just out of reach.
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