the day begins with roses-
sunlight cities, fields and seas
from year dot thru till doom-
from year dot to now-
the day curtails with ashes-
the wind playing in lightening trees
from year dot thru till doom, from year dot to now,
all to a flowing rhythm as terrifying as a heart
beating thru, and beating you; such a crazy machination
that our crazed imagination thirst
and look for truths, clutch at truths that butterfly around-
ah, as old as the hills the mountains
until the day the sun dies and darkens-
from year dot thru till doom-from year dot till now.