The lone poet sits on a mountain side,
he sings his songs of joy with pride,
I man grown, yet still a young boy inside,
see the boy inside never dies even the man tried to **** it,
because the man saw the plan but had no power to fill it,
But the said i can, and together they would will it,
to lift off in praise to the sky above,
to flap its wings and soar in ways you and I will discov',

A lovely dove with a lonely poet on its back,
he said to me the rain falls to keep us all on track,
to bring us back to the tribe i try so hard to describe,
so i write as a scribe alone on the mountain,
songs and words bubble forth flowing as a fountain,

To lay awake at night staring at the clock countin',
Praying for the first sun rays to, to take him back to those days,
Those days he cant remember,
Life was in a haze until the awakening on the 21st of december.