The colors of the winter melt into the sea
The walkers and their pimps are back out on the streets
I look out thru the window to the theater of this town
A memory of sorrow is aching like a wound
The heroes of the past are dying one by one
Their music now unheard, their voices now undone
Their names fading away like a castle in the sand
and all that is now left is the dust in our hands
And I don't know what has become
of all our dreams, of all our songs
they seem to get lost in the way
or exchanged for roles in someone's cage
The children of today made heroes of their own
They too will be forgotten as some will take 'em on
this circle of illusion, it never stops to spin
the fate of our beliefs is at the mercy of a whim
The color of your hands has paled with the years
the lines around your mouth bear witness to your fears
And yet you look the same to me, in the mirror of my eyes
the beauty of your spirit will never really die
And I don't know what has become
of all our dreams, of all our songs
they seem to get lost in the way
or exchanged for roles in someone's cage