Turning negative to positive,
A pile of dirt births a garden of color.
Like that garden that brightens the day,
A smile and a sigh comes to her.
Girl becomes woman
In the arms of a lover.
Through sorrow and happiness,
These things become her.
If she could count all the ways he makes her feel special,
They would add up to 800 or more.
If she could know all the things that he knows,
They would be 800 ways for her to adore.
Night becomes day,
In this world where shadows once ruled.
No incoherent voices echo
Where once in the sun two lovers dueled.
Spirits of love-hate ruled here,
Through centuries, just passing time.
Now laid to rest in the splendor of love.
No harsh words to be spoken, death to the unkind.
800 ways did they know
To beat each other down,
But to pick each other up,
800 ways they found.
I see him atop a castle of mist,
Forgotten gargoyle of my dreams.
Night brings life to the statue.
His fate has relied on me.
Break away from that stone prison.
Dazzle in the darkness that is your home.
Speak ancient lover of the things that bind us,
For when morning comes you shall be gone.
But 800 ways he shall return
To fill me with joy.
Through these lonely days
My stone lover stands in all his glory.
The dove cries in her sleep
For the choices that she’s made.
Nothing can bring back the sparkling gems
Twisted among the braid.
Golden fair was she,
But darkened through the years.
She mourns for the clouds of white
That has broken her wings to tears.
800 ways does she contemplate death.
In her room not a candle burns.
In all the time her memories made.
800 ways age does turn.
The golden fleece lies upon a wood.
The old scarecrow stands lifeless.
To look into his eyes, one can know the truth.
His heart lies there, beyond that straw vest.
If he should speak, what would he say?
If he could move, what would he do?
His face possesses an invisible tear.
For his kind, this dirty world can be so cruel.
So many ways I see him,
800 ways or more must I learn.
In a twist of fate I could be him.
800 ways does he burn.
In all the days and nights that have passed,
800 times have I loved.
Different faces, different places,
But it’s all the same stuff.
We plan our lives free,
Captives to our dreams.
It’s all for the opportunity to be
A perfect companion to thee.
800 wives with 800 husbands.
800 enemies with 800 friendships.
800 statues who see not the land of 800 tears absorbing the sand.
800 wings seen 800 skies.
800 rag dolls consumed by the fire,
But my 800 ways gives these players of life
With their 800 voices playing like a choir.