There's a flower in the hand of every child
And sunlight passes through the morning mist
Long blades of grass bend in the wind
Innocence discovered then
Now gone

Through the trees a stream flows endlessly
Frozen to the bed there lies a stone
Waiting to be hurled into the air
Anger bred without a care

In the deepening stillness of the night
There's a treasure wishing there was light
Buried in a sea of disillusioned eyes
Plagued by a voice within that cries
You're all misunderstanding

Silent is the willow-it's ashes floating toward the sky
From where rain slithers down upon the field
Washing blackness into the stream
Life reborn within the seams
Of itself

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