cool enough

Make of It

Cutie

Give Me Your Shoulders, Pt. 1

Move Me

landline

Conditions Of A Punk

Nobody

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© 2012–2025 Lance Thomas Davidson. All rights reserved.
Written, composed, and produced by Lance Thomas Davidson.
Unauthorized reproduction, distribution, or adaptation of this work is prohibited under international copyright law.



Two moods diverged within my day,
And rare it was, I need to say,
That happiness, so seldom found,
Stood shining here, without a sound.

For happiness is not a stream,
It casts one circle of its light,
A fleeting glow, a fragile dream,
That carries us through the night.

It came as sudden as the breeze
That stirs the silence of the trees,
Or moon that glows a shade of blue,
A thing one doubts but knows is true.

For happiness is not a stream,
It casts one circle of its light,
A fleeting glow, a fragile dream,
That carries us through the night.

And I, who often walk in care,
Felt brightness settle in the air;
I marked the light upon my face,
And would not let it go to waste.

For moments such as this are brief,
A flicker through the autumn leaf;
Yet when it comes, one must be still,
To take the gift, to drink the fill.

For happiness is not a stream,
It casts one circle of its light,
A fleeting glow, a fragile dream,
That carries us through the night.

I thought of nights when none appears,
When weight is heavy with my fears;
How rare the time when joy comes near,
And how the heart must hold it dear.

And if that light should guide my way,
Through darker hours or disarray,
I’ll take its flame and let it show,
The paths where courage bids me go.

For happiness is not a stream,
It casts one circle of its light,
A fleeting glow, a fragile dream,
That carries us through the night.

So when the night would press me down,
Or tempt me into faceless frown,
I’ll choose to speak, to stand, to dare—
For fleeting joy has taught me there:
That life is won by those who try,
Who risk, who answer, who defy.

And if the crowd should call me still,
To walk their road, to bend my will,
I’ll turn instead where silence calls,
And climb the ridge though shadow falls.
For strength is born where few have trod,
The narrow path that leans on G-d.

Thus when my journey meets its close,
And what I’ve sown at last, it shows,
They’ll say I walked with open eyes,
And braved the dark to claim the skies.
For life is not to drift or bend,
But rise in courage to the end.

For happiness is not a stream,
It casts one circle of its light,
A fleeting glow, a fragile dream,
That carries us through the night.



© 2012–2025 Lance Thomas Davidson. All rights reserved worldwide.
Written, composed, and produced by Lance Thomas Davidson.
Any unauthorized use, duplication, or performance of this material without prior written consent is a violation of applicable copyright laws.



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