You sit there, biding your time.
Out of your head and into your mind.
that are dreams in action.
A glass raised to an absent muse.
A boy stands in his father's shoes,
And a drunk man smiles at a thistle,
there's a life sign burning.
A Poet's moon, like a vision shining, and
The lovers lie in the long grass,
stolen flowers make their bed.
there are dreams in action.
Prayers met and questions answered,
As the world whirls in the darkness.
I'm still staring at the skies under
A night black as Hoodlo's eye.
The sparks fly from a tinker's fire,
As the stories burn among us
A seed falls onto stony ground,
Without a hope and without a sound.
From the weeds will grow the flowers,
there's a salmon settling
Like a lover's touch, to charm the life,
His fingers play the reeds.
there's a whistle blowing,
Where a flare is falling in a deadly night.
we are flowers in the storm,
You sit there biding your time,
Out of your head and into your mind.
Penning thoughts that are dreams in action.
A cross made in a polling booth.
Another flies in a field of blue,
And a drunk man smiles at a thistle,
Under a Poet's moon, there are angels crying,
and the dance goes on regardless till
You're carried from the floor.
there are dreams in action.
Prayers met and questions answered,
as the world whirls in the darkness.
I'm still staring at the skies,
staring at the skies; we're still staring at the skies
