Rod Mckuen The Search
Silence I fear most
Not wine pouring
Laughter from an empty room
Or wind through ghostly hazard blowing
Silence cuts the deepest when remembering is the only sound. And yet, in silence hours ago I held your hand without a word
It must be that a touch is audible to friendly ears
Mostly I have heard the big men singing
As I lay in beds in rented rooms in strange towns
Singing to their women in the streets
And I have thought, how wonderful to have a woman to sing to
A girl to hold, to touch, to be loved by
Mostly I have heard the big men singing
As I walk the streets and search the parks and bars
And went along the beaches and harbours of alien shores in alien cities
In search of a woman, sometimes any woman
But after a while, the singing stops
The work along the harbour halts
It's 5 o'clock, the sun comes down
The people speak of summertime
Of being young, of being loved
And listening to the summer birds
The people speak of being young
And planting acorns in the sun
All lonely people such as I must surely sense the need for another daylight hour
To search the public mountains and the vagrant skies
For when the nighttime comes and there is no one here to spend the night
One can be a very lonely number
And it's back on the street again
You see the lovers embracing one another with their eyes, and their arms
And certain women look from certain doorways
And cars go by slowly
And shadows offer promises
The foghorns cry like banshees or a stray lamb
The fog never separates the ocean from the sky
The moon makes patterns on the water
Exaggerations, promises of things to come
Where to go, where to go when summer starts its rounds?
And in the sky the sun makes promises
Who's hand to hold when many are extended?
