The dancer slows her frantic pace , In pain and desperation
Her aching limbs and downcast face aglow with perspiration
Stiff as wire, her lungs on fire with just the briefest pause
The flooding through her memory, the echoes of old applause
And she limps across the floor , and closes her bedroom door
The writer stare with glassy eyes , defies the empty page
His beard is white, his face is lined, and streaked with tears of rage
Thirty years ago, how the words would flow , with passion and precision
But now his mind is dark and dulled, by sickness and indecision
And he stares out the kitchen door, where the sun will rise no more
Some are born to move the world, to live their fantasies
But most of us just dream about , the things we'd like to be
Sadder still to watch it die, than never to have known it
For you, the blind who once could see
The bell tolls for thee.
The bell tolls for…
For you, the blind who once could see
The bell tolls for thee.