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A Million Stars Above
In the bed of moss, bed of trees, bed of life
No one worries, for their gun or their knife
They sleep, not stirring nor shaking
Not wondering or bothering, what happens we're waken
In the days of old, and the minutes of new
The seeds are trees, and the lies are true
The babies snore away their thoughts
Thoughts they fight, so golden, so blue
Heartbeaets, so deep, inside their sleep
As it becomes the clock, the counting sheep
Along the meadow they hop and creep
No talking, no clapping, just whispers, just napping
In the dusk of precious, the skies of dust
No one hurries, in a movement down to rust
As they cringe, grasping their sheets to their chins
Dreams, creeping within
Cringe for life, cringe for fortune, cringe for now
So in the bed of moss, of trees of life
The babies, cuddle, morning and tight
Never shoving, nor shining for the night so bright
In this endless night, no plot, no light.
