Black Flies

                                  Black flies on the windowsill

That we are

That we are

That we are to know

Winter stole summer's thrill

And the river's cracked and cold



See the sky is no man's land

A darkened plume to stay

Hope here needs a humble hand

Not a fox found in your place



No man is an island, this I know

But can't you see?

Maybe you were the ocean when I was just a stone



Black flies on the windowsill

That we are

That we are

That we are to hold

Comfort came against my will

And every story must grow old



Still I'll be a traveler

A gypsy's reins to face

But the road is wearier

With that fool found in your place



No man is an island, this I know

But can't you see?

Maybe you were the ocean when I was just a stone



So here we are