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Through
the mirror in which I look
Lies a place of wonderment,
Where the castles are made of clouds
And dreams of flow'ry mists
In this land is where the hope is lost,
The truth buried 'neath the sea.
The sounds of light are sweet,
As only limes can be.
The green cream of wand'ring shadows
Streams twice across a lake,
As the images of a thousand beasts
Roam wearily 'round the gate.
The sun: golden dreary;
The moon: white horrors;
Across the sands of hunger,
Above the harsh gray waves
Lies a valley of broken wonders-
Hills covered in glass-
The glass of broken dreams,
The glass of broken past.
