The blue sky faded slowly,
she tread her route upon the grass.
The Meadows growing flowers,
swaying, as they make her laugh.
The knowledge and the the knowing,
the truth that sings with every dawn.
The love of life and growing,
always there,
since she was born.
And as she's sitting gazing,
living in a thousand worlds.
She hears a voice inside her heart,
hears a voice she knows is hers.
It tells her to go forward,
tells her, what shall be will be.
Confronting all those worries,
sailing in uncharted seas.

Her spirit, drifted into thoughts,
like so many times before.
Ruffled leaves upon the path,
but every gust that blew was pure.
Her presence, just a memory,
now lost upon the waves.
It sometimes seems,
lost in our dreams,
lies everything we crave.

Old Slim Jim
all soaked in gin,
his cards upon the velvet cloth.
The Candle burning at both ends,
with everything he's ever sought.
Smoke obscures the mirrors.
A cheap view,
to the other side.
Old Slim Jim
is holding bullets,
something that his eyes can't hide.
Reaching for the bottle,
hand as steady as the wind.
A ghost upon the shadows,
passes, and it makes him grin.
Old Jim Believes in omens,
pointers from a different realm.
Cards upon the table.
In that old place by the Thames.

Pandora's Box is out of hope.
Empty like a broken vessel.
Washed up on the shores of pain.
Red rust from the lapping waves.
  Silent are the murmurs.
Silent is the voice of man.
As Heavens flames return to light.
Hell's fire cremates all it can.

That old wooden painted box.
Faint yellow stars engraved within.
Held the letters to her heart,
the scriptures of her life of sin.
It held the ribbons
that once tied
another side of her sweet life.
Now she plays the blushing bride,
now she plays the faithful wife.
But every night she wanders,
to a place inside her mind.
Staring out the window,
dreaming of another time,
with that old wooden painted box,
yellow stars engraved within.
She breaths for every moment,
every second, that she spent with him.

Some people spend their money,
trying to buy a piece of time.
Other souls are clocking in,
trying to raise an honest dime.
And sometimes its not funny,
the way our hours are torn away.
Outside, its so sunny,
but we're like birds
inside a cage.
Nurtured with a number,
an I.D, to make sure we pay.
From the first breath that we take,
till the one that meets the grave.
But nowt can't steal the thunder
the energy that carries through.
There's nothing that could ever ****,
our feelings and our right to truth.

The penny dropped
the fountain stopped.
Forever, at the end of May.
The farmer praying for his crop,
praying for the rain to stop.
Forever, at the end of May.
The Angels flight,
not lost to sight.
Forever, at the end of May.
And we might close our eyes tonight.
Forever, at the end of May.