Be it autumn summer spring,
wind or rain or birds in sing,
there is just one simple thing,
that puts my mind at ease.

When I feel my smile dying,
Before the numb and bouts of crying
I go out with hopes of spying,
Lamplight on the leaves.

Her laughter is fire in rain,
Poorly timed and extinguished in vain
and she's always lying
about how how she's dying
A death so absurdly mundane.
So lucky the death of a fool
Rusty wire on a rusted out spool
But I heard the rumor
That god sees the humor,
In watching her struggle through school.

The thought of fresh flowers
Brings tears to my eyes,
Because,
Like the hedonistic pleasures of man,
They are both beneath and above you.

Let me touch you,
Said the earth to sky,
And the cloud settled in,
And on the mountain she lie.
They spoke of their lives,
Of lost loves and of fears,
And when the sun called her back,
All that remained were her tears.
Maybe you've seen them,
In the winter or fall,
When the mountain is barren,
And the sky comes to call,
Be it wishful thinking,
Or a trick of the light,
But I swear that I see it,
When the sun hits just right,
A smile of contentment,
On that old mountains face,
As he lays down to slumber,
In his lovers embrace.

If life were full of riches,
A mouse would sleep instead,
Not crawl around in ditches,
To keep his family fed,
He doesn't need a kingdom,
but a roof above his head,
Oh, if life were full of riches,
A mouse would sleep instead.

In a corner of infinity so tiny and young,
small people toiled to have small portraits hung,
To think themselves immortal, they all slaved all day,
and put off the future, until at last they passed away.

There exists a place, or so I'm told
far beyond our dreams of gold
far removed from want or need
or evil souls sick with greed
A place we crafted with our minds,
left our wars and lives behind
and thought for once of how it'd be,
if instead of I there was only we.
The journey was long,
and the path we walked hard
as we spread our light ,
from star to star.
The journey is not over,
mankind is not grown,
there is room for improvement,
and much left unknown.
But for this you were conscripted,
and you haven't a choice
and in the swarm of exsistence
you haven't a voice,
So what must you do if you want to be heard,
Speak with your actions and temper your words.
Carry us further, set tempo and pace,
Run your leg dutifully; of the great human race.