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Spectral Mornings/Firth of Fifth/Clocks
by
Phil Collins
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The path is clear, though no eyes can see The course laid down long before And so with gods and men, the sheep remain inside their pen Though many times they've seen the way to leave He rides majestic, past homes of men Who care not or gaze with joy To see reflected there, the trees, the sky, the lily fair The scene of death is lying just below The mountain cuts off the town from viеw Like a cancer growth is removеd by skill Let it be revealed A waterfall, his madrigal An inland sea, his symphony Undinal songs urge the sailors on 'Till lured by the siren's cry... Now as the river dissolves in sea So Neptune has claimed another soul And so with gods and men The sheep remain inside their pen Until the shepherd leads his flock away The sands of time were eroded by The river of constant change [Instrumental]
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