Time again to tell a tale,

and more a mystery unveil,

or rather, shed a light onto

the mystery we see in you.



Within us all we come to find

a call we can't let fall behind,

and to be led becomes an ease,

and to be dead becomes a tease,



for when we wake one morn' we feel

so worn and weakened that we reel,

and fall, as fated, back to bed,

with heavy voices in our head.



Wondering, we venture toward

the conversation, and are lured

into ourselves, a pretty prison;

pulled to pain, through indecision.



Once inside, we hear, so clear,

the cries of those we held so dear,

so long ago; to each a year,

a time, a memory, a tear.





Without regret, with perfect grace,

the specters leave their resting place,

and each and every long-left ghost

now turns ourselves into our host,



and all are us, just some less so,

and some go places we can't go;

or couldn't, rather, in the day,

when I was me, and they were they.



Into these lands we travel now,

where time and consequence allow

for error, and for remedy;

within this land, we all are free,



but freedom comes at painful price;

our future we must sacrifice,

if faded faces do arise,

to change the color of our eyes;



to see the world a different way;

and different worlds, so far away;

from heart, from home; from innocence,

to nothing now, and nothing since.

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