I think we pray when we say that sweet word "tomorrow" that in a way we betray our fear of greater sorrow That we play monk and we play lover in the hope that we'll see colour rather than replay the grey when we say "tomorrow"
And as we lay in the haze of all that we don't know perhaps we'll praise this great ballet of what must surely follow Or we may curse and we may rage as we take unto the stage as we dance away the day when we say "tomorrow"