Living where the dreams,
they repeat themselves
where living isn't living
it's more like sleeping.

There was an old man
next door, his name was, Lonely.
He cared for the gardens.
He cared for the grounds.
In his way, he cared for us.

She came to me one bright morning.
Spoke of her memories of this place.
She went on and on, in proper detail.
But ask her how she remembers;
it becomes obvious,
she's only sleeping.

Once they've woken.
Having heard the Word Spoken.
their sleepy lives are broken.
Breathing in the spirit,
the wherever it will blow.
Enlivening that spark of life within.
In the Abundance of Life
We sing, we dance, we love
No more sleeping.
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