As I know I cannot stop to think about life,
sometimes I wonder.
Sometimes I really just get torn asunder.
What’s truly in the lilypad’s wake?
Maybe a frog, or a snake,
but right there in the lake,
there’s going to be something
in the lilypad’s wake.
Maybe it’s something a little more sentimental.
A fish swimming around, maybe, being quite gentle.
As much as I care, and I as much as I ache,
I cannot find out what’s in the lilypad’s wake.
Maybe, just maybe,
as I lay awake,
life shouldn’t just be questioning
the lilypad’s wake.
Maybe it’s a metaphor
for something too big.
I think it might be,
for you dance in life’s jig.
The lilypad is life; pretty, round and pink,
beautiful and serene, it’ll laugh and it’ll wink,
but when the wilt comes, oh,
life has to go.
And in the wake of the lilypad, it all seems to slow.