At the first count of the waltz, she closed her eyes to see.

A secret hymn, a floating dream, a quiet reverie.

A three count waltz gave her the time to sway.

A world spun soft in rhythm’s arms, where shadows danced away.

We give a part of ourselves

For someone to build their own soul.

Just like mosaic is made out of many,

We need many to become a whole

A man who always dressed in Grey

Started to slowly fade away.

No joy, no sorrow stirred his soul,

A hollow man, an empty hole.

In my dream there was a land flowing with milk and honey.