I ope­ned my book of the magic, I whi­spe­red sophi­sti­ca­te words. I saw the the­ath­re of tra­gic, The self-suici­de of the crowds.

I raised the glass sphe­re of an Earth, I put eyes’ atten­tion to it. I read who­le the chap­ter of myth And I tho­ught of myste­ry to keep.

Then I reached out for the bell And I rang sad melo­dy and cried. It was the day I had only felt That my hope was abo­ut to die.

The­re are signs high abo­ve just for me, And I think that one day I’ll ful­fill. Never lose, no — not hope, just the pri­de. So I’m still keeping eyes open wide. Just too wide.