The Dead Poets' Society

Does anybody know where I come from?

Does anyone care?

What makes me I, where do I belong?

I can tell you by your face

That you've got a song,

You sing in silence

When you walk along

The beaches of a busy life,

Hearing the waves of sorrow and pain

Sighing at the sky, of despair;

Yet you keep walking...

Hoping for some soothing rain.

Set your footprints on the sands of time

If not by skin, perhaps with ink

Roar at the waves - you live your life!

Let all your sorrows in the ocean sink!

Smile at the silence of the sky

and Stand...hold the moment...

That's where I belong -

Where moments, although felt;

Are never sung as songs.

Yes...I...I come from where I die.

I come from the Dead Poets' Society.