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
Remains

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
Misunderstanding
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