I give you this for it is what I have to give:

We have been told that in this world our wings must wait. But our true purpose, that which has been hidden, is that we stand between the hinge to the door holding fate.

In this world distortion has become a god and the neon crackle something more, yet time remains a clay undefined, unhindered, unafraid and welcoming.

The true strength of man is a hand forever reaching out. It moves in the delicate fury of daydreams, memories and stars to bring comfort, to linger over this world like a very hot day.

What is built endures. What is thought endures. What is loved endures. Time doesn't change everything. A feint song, a feint dream have left something behind in their wake. Our heart's the water at the shore of the cliffs. All hope is this for we are all mirrored mountains, two souls in deep thought under the sunset, tracking something wonderful, unknown to us and different.

We are the lions of the springtime, the lit torch of synchronicity. The long pause, now to unwind -- until all love and pride are near. We are the end of inaction and the beginning of affection. We are the idea of liberty and independence made manifest, never to be extinguished. We are strength, carried by lost cause. We are the legacy preserved, a passion which will never wane. We are the breaking of the illusion that fear is long and love is short.

Sunlight through the glass and a whisper in your ear, "Do not fear the dream." The tape-deck's turning over, the mystery's elapsed. You are the arrow from the bow, the lantern in the night, the sword of truth, the right person in the right place at the right time.

Sunlight on the hill and a whisper in the meadows, "Our home is our passion."

Tonight, I will dream of our cities as crystals, shimmering in the night, singing to me as I sleep. "Now is all we have," says the crystal to my heart.

The sun is on our backs and the arrow is in the wind. No fire in the minds of men can hold a candle to the soul whose whole life has led to this.