We hear only our own voices, still echoes returning to our emptiness.
From what you didn’t say, lies that you did say.
A hidden spark of the dream sleeps In the forest and waits In the celestial spheres of the brain.
Strangers are endearing because you don’t know them yet.
If an ancient man saw planes two thousand years ago He would've thought they were birds Or angels from another world Or messengers from other planets.
Will the day tell its secret Before it disappears, Becomes timeless night.