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And yes we're haunted by our demons,
Which ride the winds of change,
It will never be,
It will never be,
And yet wishes fly through the windows,
Dancing on our graves.

The past is done,
Is over,
Is gone,
And yet the parade won't move on.
The dirge being sung is a happy tune,
And the burial clowns dance on the moon.

Eyes are squinting,
No longer flow tears,
But instead flag deceptions,
Yet no truth can appear.
The dancers,
The dancers will cheer in the crowd,
The cobwebs untangled,
And speeches allowed.

Today is the day,
For the final review,
For the last beacon calling,
And for feelings renewed.