When the dry bones of reason are laid down to rest and the madness of truth was wasted on the upcoming treasure of youth,
and where the shallow graves be is where we once played,
Time,is
now stayed in the freeze of the clock,the look of shock that you gave is also now in the grave,but
we live in the sunlight and splash in the rays,paddle in the moonbeams and dance through the days in the semibreve of believing when the grieving is done,there's a brief (but) transition and we're back in the sun.

Forever we are tied to this side of the mist,here and yet missed by those over there where cares are worn heavy like an overcoat skin and the minutes tick thinly and like ticks burrow in.
We are one and the same as if two ends of a skipping rope game,twirling and hopping,stopping and whirling and at one point we shall meet,
laughing in joy as we greet
and where the dry bones of reason step lightly upon each passing season to give us that reason to be,
so shall we
step light on the memory and
light the long road of history as we
step lightly away from the crowd.