There's some music
playing even without it
being heard there's a someone
we've all heard of lying beyond
a picture, and a dusted map shows
us to be thankful, but days are plenty,
and there is plenty to forget, I think of
snowmen and feeling, and race tracks
and lanterns, and the little one within
us, and the ones without us I could be
one in a million or the one who fell
out of line or the one in the building
waiting for it to crumble, and so we
listen, and so we've heard, lies and
questions and rivers of birds will
carry us away to our angels and
our home is someplace beyond
nightmares and silly thoughts
turning into fears, has our
nation survived, and are
we united?