"Today, we cried, but maybe they will sing for us tomorrow.
Toy soldiers died, in hopes of ending worldly sorrow.
Should I let go or follow, as I am so consumed by this, realistic child's play?
It seems, my tricycle is stuck in this sandbox, until the end of this birth day.
And as I push away from grains of sand so stained with blood and covered up by I-owe-yous,
I find clues through labyrinth of views that lead me to plateau of higher truth.
I live to love and die to choose, and I am so diffused,
my lifetimes haunt me, bittersweet, like ghosts of past and future deja vus.
It's natural, my blues. 3rd density is like a movie I've been in but don't remember watching.
And as a ghost, I wrote that time keeps marching to heartbeat of a character that I dreamed up.
I doubt this will stop, as I am part of source, a finite source of all that is.
Then, maybe gentle breeze will touch my hair, reminding me that none of this goes on in vain.
I twisted means of gain and wrote Tears In The Rain, to say that I am all, when I am none.
So when this vessel can't sustain, I am the time, itself, to run around the sun.
But music will play on, as I go back and forth, between pure bliss and such sweet sorrow.
And I am so forever gone, just to return to you, and we will sing for you tomorrow."