You Sing

In this moment,
time has not defined itself.
We open up soft and yielding
and drink in the night.
In this moment,
white horse on a hillside
stands still
then is running
racing toward another nightfall
and I hear you sing.
You sing.
I hear you sing
you sing
sha-la-la-la-la....

This small ticking clock
is the home of invisible things;
a spring wound tight
around the family jewel
that keeps remembering.
Remembering
days between stations,
and there's voices buzzing
in my jazz and poetry
but it's nothing like 
the angel voice I hear
when you enter the words
and I hear you sing.
You sing.
I hear you sing.
You sing

We drowned the sleep of youth
drinking oceans of tears.
But the soft pressure
and the low note in your voice
still fires me
burns me
and it's you I want to hear,
it's you I want to hear
I hear sha-la-la-la..

- R. Aceto  Copyright ©1994 Muse at 111 Music / BMI