I was walking between frosts, on a dark night, that conjured stars from streetlights.

It was then i heard a sweet voice, an illusionist with lost eyes,

He said "Where the river goes awry, where the mountains catch the sky, where the forest speaks, oh there go I."

I was slipping into dusk dreams, chalk drawings, making monsters in concrete.

He said that he could take the neon I had come from and with his magic give me glades. I longed to shelter in his leaves.

He said to me, "Where the river goes awry, where the mountains catch the sky, where the forest speaks oh there go I. Where the willow guards the streams, where the spirits mine the seams, where the dragon flies, there go I."

I wonder if times gone by, could ever be more than just stories. Could ever be more than just stories.

I was walking feeling lost, on a dark night, that conjured stars, from street lights. It was then I heard a sweet voice, in the darkness, my last illusionist, with his lost eyes.

I said, "Where the willow guards the stream, where the spirits mine the seams, where the dragon flies, there go I. Where the river goes awry, where the mountains catch the sky, where the forest speaks oh there go I, where the forest speaks oh there go I, where the forest speaks oh there go I."