Sitting on a piano bench feeling the keys at my father's home,
I play some romantic pieces for my ears only,
I begin to improvise some tune on a distant memory,
A distant memory that none have seemed as dismal.
Something about the air is right, the light just the right dim,
The bass plays in the left hand, and the violins in the right,
But they are the sound of voices, and if you heard them before,
They might ring a bell.
Somethings are slightly amiss, while others happen just right.
I can hear the steady footsteps of father,
I continue to play uninterrupted and luckily--
Last night I dreamed of an alien fetus--gosh I hate nightmares!
And I woke up and my eyes moved as if by an invisible force
From the paintings on the wall and I noticed a shadowy alien,
That wasn't an alien, but it looked as if it was painted onto the painting.
Then I slowly realized, God's image is in all works of art.
I hesitated to go back to sleep, today I couldn't find any aliens inscribed in paintings,
And I've tried to recreate the exact conditions to no avail.
Sometime's passed, I've returned to the present and my memory has faded,
For the last four years my standards have been lowered,
The love of my life has remarried.
Alas, I have a recurring flashback in my mind:
I see a new figure right in front of me.
It was of the time I first met her!
And I am as suddenly as I am scarily returned.
