Hangs in the breeze
But few of them can see
The clouds that prophesy
Or hear the words
The wind speaks quite plainly.
They've forgotten their lives
And what the sun used to look like,
Still I gaze into their eyes,
Put on hold what I know
Until they remember
(Though I know they never will).
Thus have I squandered the gift of the future,
That says nothing and is never wrong.
