They drop as end of season apples
The enduring struggle, melancholy mist
This morning dew of livid blues
Evaporates as a child's shoe is tied
Widens like the euphrates
Smiles in suprise, son to father
A mountain of unhindered elevation
Bursts on the scene as a songs granduer
Ruptures a crowds eardrums
Love and lose, live and burn
The fire in the eyes returns to the country
Where the fields sprawl sweetly
And the hill-tops breed new mystery
Applebottoms and hydrogen baloons
Blistered feet of the weary wounds
Washed by the shores edge
The potters kiln, the swordsman's hedge
Guilt and dross and fury no longer carried
Fear and ugly faith foregone
Now the wanderers final position
Becomes known, through return home
To an open throne
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