Time is not what it used to be, we are flying creatures

Chasing dreams ceaselessly, manufactured by the world.

We don't get to be as close as we'd like with hearts not as big as they used to be,

And there are already new inhabiting people.

But we can live without a place in our hearts, we have roots that go deeper,

We can be apart, forgotten in the moment, because we have a permanent place in the past.

We are not the memories easy shadowed, in the light of brighter beginning,

Not a story living in old pictures or in new music, waiting.

We are birds of a feather, children of an old tree

Where we have a place to be together, free of time and circumstance, in a quiet dream.