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We told our tales as we sat under morning's sleepy sky |
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With all the colors of the sunrise shining in our eyes |
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One, then another with a story of yesterday's life |
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Or of a lover who had gone in a moment of strife |
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No thought of sleep ever dwells upon the wise man's mind |
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Some task or audience stealing every moment of his time |
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Thus we have learned to live while mortal men stand waiting to die |
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How can we do what must be done in just one short life |
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And if you ask then you must know |
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If you still doubt you should be told |
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It was not we that made it so |
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It was by those who went before |
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And there you sit tomorrow's child |
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So full of love, so full of life |
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But you must rise to meet the day |
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Lest you become another tale |
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And there you sit tomorrow's child |
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So full of love, so full of life |
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But you must rise to meet the day |
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Lest you become another tale |
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Another tale, another tale, another tale |
