To walk on magic, And in a field of dreams, Resembles kindness, From a mother's kiss. No cries or emptiness, No hidden vaults of flowers, The child within will forge, A light that never dies. We walk a line dressed in crude shadows, But at end, When all things said and done are over, Life speaks in beating stories. It makes no sense, to some it seems, But soon the joy embarks, On hidden whispers of bright light. The simple truth becomes a puzzle, An empty vessel of tomorrow, For none can see in bulky waters, The never-ending cloud of liars. So tell your stories, ghoulish despair, And leave thy mark on hearts of stone, For liberty of mind prevails, in hushed But o so gloomy manners.