Two Streams of Time

[bnewman]

A story, and an explanation, of the Storytellers' World.

lyrics and music by Benjamin Newman

listen to this song

/ Am FGAm FG Am / - F - G / 1st / /

 

A man walked out on the rolling hills on an evening fine and warm

And he had not gone one league from home when there blew up a sudden storm

And in the storm he lost his way, for the night it had grown so black

'Til the clouds did part and the moon shone cold on the stones of the old, straight track

 

He followed the track to a tavern's door, 'ere the light of the moon should fail

And they gave him shelter and meat and drink, and they told him a thousand tales

And they set him straight on the way back home, in the ragged and rosy dawn

And the hills were the hills he had always known, but the world that he knew was gone

 

/ Am G FG Am / " / Am - F G / " /

 

There are two streams of time, two directions time may pass

There's the time when the tale of the world takes place, from the first word to the last

And the time when the tale of the world is changed, each time it is told again

But that's not the time that is meant to pass in the lives of mortal men

 

Next night when he sought for that tavern all by the light of the dwindling moon

What he found was a circle of standing stones, all carved with forgotten runes

And he beat on the stones and he cried out loud, saying: Where can I ever go?

How in the world can I get back home to the world that I used to know?

 

Then a door opened up in the circle's midst, where there wasn't a door at all

And beyond was the warmth of a blazing hearth and the mirth of a feasting hall

And a lord like a king from the elder days came to him and took his hand

Saying: Come, be our guest for another night, and perhaps you will understand

 

There are two streams of time, two directions time may pass...

 

There were meat and drink as had been before, there were tales, but the tales were strange

For the self-same stories were told once more, but not one was retold unchanged

Then the lord of the house raised up his hand, and silence came o'er the hall

And he said to his guest: Find your answer here, in the tale which contains them all

 

There are some who say that the world was told once on an ageless night

In the storytellers' circle, gathered round in the dawn-fire's light

And they told it once, and aright and true, and after it all was done

The tellers walked in the world they'd told by the light of the first day's sun

 

Now, it's true that the world is a tale that's told, but it never was carved in stone

Nor was it ever fixed nor finished, nor told one time alone

But every night it is told again, never once as it was before

And the tellers sit round the dawn-fire still, as they shall for ever more

 

There are two streams of time, two directions time may pass...

 

Now, some of the tellers desired to live in the world and the time they'd spun

And walked out of the ring of the dawn-fire's light in the days when the world was young

But some of them wished that the tale should be revised and retold again

And remained in the time that's beyond the tale, never touched by the time within

 

But if one chose a life lived within the world, later on he might change his mind

And set out to return to the circle, but the way he could never find

For the way to the place where the dawn-fire burns has been lost since the days of old

Still, a teller might hope to return again to the time when the tale is told

 

He would build him a hall with a mighty hearth, he would send for his kith and kin

He would gather all those who no longer wished to belong to the time within

If the place of the dawn-fire was lost to them, they would kindle a fire themselves

And if men-of-the-world heard of them at all, they heard legends, and called them elves

 

There are two streams of time, two directions time may pass...

 

So, now you know where your feet have strayed, and can guess at what that may mean

You have stepped from your tale, from your world and time, to a time that lies in between

If it lay in our power to send you home, be assured we would think it well

But the tale of the world out of which you came is not one that is ours to tell

 

A change in the tale that lies at our door is not a thing we can see undone

For the tales told here are of far-off lands, and of worlds under distant suns

You may yet return to the lands you left, though their tales will be strange, I fear

Or, if you so wish, you may take your place in the circle of story here