Remember the days numbered past,
from old to young and first to last.
We joked about the living dream,
of frosted ice and rich white cream.

We danced the night, away and back,
and still in a blink, my day went black.
I stood up tall, starkly hindered by pride,
that was the day I knew my faith had died.

A quarter went on, a miracle birthed,
around the fragments new hope had girthed.
We tried once more, against all implore,
blinded by the psychedelic garish light galore.

To no man's land, a one man stand,
a withered memory, a bird in hand.
Not quite worth two in bush, of self pity
and measured cries of being too shitty.

One and a half of hiatus came,
the deafening sound of war and blame.
And out of the depths, a new light shone
what was buried in hell is no longer gone.