There is music that will play on,
when we are gone.

When we have slept,
And when we have weapt,
moving away
to a another day.

The music will still play
on for it's own
And for no one,

As when we are gone,
The stars won't be done,
They blink
They shine like a golden ink,

They will never leave,
They'll dance,
And we'll greave
And leave.

Just as we have always done,
And they will never do.