The Lonely Hill Poem by ness tillson

At the bottom of the well,
Where the dead ends meet,
You find the cross,
The empty seat.

You thought there'd be some one,
Waiting for you here,
But there's no one at the bar,
Drinking his beer.

You had an appointment,
Made so long ago,
With some one you knew well,
Another lost soul.

But there's no one here,
At the bottom of this well,
No one here in this empty black hole.

I wonder why I have come all this way,
To sing this song, to dance and play?
I was sure that you would wait for me here,
But there's only illusion, desperation and fear.

Why did you tell me,
That I was wrong,
Why did you beat me,
Till I sang my song?

Till death do us part,
A long lost friend,
Till death do us part,
To the bitter end.

Bitter is the colour of my true love's hair,
As she rises in the morning,
And tells me that she's not there,
As she rises in the morning
And fades away,
As she rises in the morning
Of another day.

The end of the labyrinth
The last of my tears,
That I shed on your grave
Your screams in my ears.

Where have all the young men gone?
Gone to grave yards every one.
Gone to cry on your grave stone,
The foot of your cross,
Your empty tomb.

The end is nigh,
The end is near,
No need to run,
No need to fear.

The empty tomb is filled with light,
But empty souls are lost in the night.

To die is to rise or disappear,
The question is, will you ever get near?

The end of the road,
The empty bar,
The wooden cross,
The morning star.

Hope and illusion
Love and hate,
Open the door,
Push open the gate.

Is there anyone there?
Is there anything left?
Does my life go on after death?

The cross that you planted
At the heart of my soul,
The eye of the storm,
As my story unfolds.

The cross that rises,
High on the hill,
For all to see,
For all to distil.

The words that you said
That no one could hear,
Engraved in my heart
With fire and tears.

Words in the silence,
Of a long lost soul,
That echo forever
In my begging bowl.

The whispering murmur,
Of the breeze in the trees,
Of my will that is broken,
I'm down on my knees.

Is it me or is it you?
Who died on this cross,
Who walked in the dew.

Are we both just
The one and same one,
Looking down the same barrel
Of the same gun?
Broken in pieces,
In circles we run.

You after me
And me after you,
From up on the cross,
To the light in the dew.

Till death do us part,
And we become still,
Nailed to this cross,
On this lonely hill.