Clay people on the street, with no song to sing,
a million private wars to fight, no spirits to be ever healed.

The lights go off the bright day,
the ship that wasn't supposed to sink forever lost.
Afraid of the shadows under the shine of the moon,
smoke from the pipe chokes the air within,
the morning waits for dreams to wake the spirits within.

The dawn keeps coming and the fools keep blinking,
the morning tide cleanses the little ones.
People rise and fall aside, astray till the end of their lives.
The chimes of the piper to the road onward,only heard by the children at heart,
the happy ones follow only where they truly want to go.