Still searching for my way   The right way to be   Still pondering   What I’ve done      I’m still thinking what I’ve said   Still finding from within   And all that I know   Is still not enough      I’m being held by the one   Shadow tormenting my soul   The curving neck of the swan   The slow turning of a bird’s head      So white its plumes and feathers   Its breast like the moon in water   Silent and tranquil it moves   On the river in the calm      I wander back on familiar roads   I sense the marks I left on the hills   I see the cuts and wounds of my deeds   They make me muse on life      Up the hill and the mountain   I look back, I look down   There flows the River of Death   And here the wind in my hair