I'm not the man who met his dreams
with weary eyes and thoughts of grey.
The man who opened his eyes this morn'
is not the man from yesterday.

We live our lives encased in stone.
etching our names through woe and fear,
deaf by chisels wo scratch and slice
the only truth we need to hear.

Every day's a different path,
one you've never tread before;
every sunrise, wonders anew,
with stranger songs and open doors.

The only chain around your neck
is made of links you forge each night,
but with new eyes,
who crave delight,
perhaps dawn offers a different sight.