The vision is clear Glowing like the sun above our heads We have been escaping for a lifetime Just to be Dragged to where we started
Who are we kidding? We are kids trying to grasp onto The beam at the other end of the wire Naïve spirits clouding our reality We both understand the dangers of dreaming
Waking up to the croak of ravens It’s time for us to craft a tunnel Distant from our realm of possibility
Let’s escape to the sound Of the roaring drums Calling out our names
We will mount high Higher than what we would call home Climbing and passing by The sea of children twirling to the hymn The hymn of memories lost.
Flowers bloom and so do we Sunflowers shine in their meadow bed and so do we
In this paradise We are the rulers of our kingdom With time we manifest our destiny We control the man-made clock That has so desperately tried to dictate our paths.
In this paradise Houses clutter in rows Damp shirts and pants sway lazily On the wire connecting every neighbor The language of love Slips through the citizens’ tongues
The vision is clear Fiestas are religiously thrown Every weekend Bottles of Sangria wine Line the limestone streets Families holler in laughter In the joy of what it is to be alive Nothing is sweeter than having a pulse Feeling the sweat trickle down your spine The children talking amongst each other. Flamenco performers stomp As people move from house to house Never leaving a trace of unhappiness behind Never leaving the group behind.
Fiestas keeps the city alive The city of new dreams The city where the man-made clock Doesn’t hold anyone down The city of fresh beginnings And a destiny that can be controlled.
In this paradise Waves silently crash against The algae covered boulders Seagulls sing their freedom cry
Give us hope Bring us tangible rationality In an era of irrationality We need a savior From fallen grace
Seashells adorn the delicate sand That sticks to the soles of our feet The warmth of the sun Kiss our golden skin
Salty tears drip down our faces, Is it the emptiness we feel? When we are alone? Or the realization That we cease to exist.
The vision is clear Our past lives Become our past selves And our past selves Get lost in what we wished to be.
When will we learn? That our vision isn’t clear Twenty-twenty vision isn’t enough.