A soul that has no vision
Is not really a soul at all
And everything it builds
In the end will surely fall

Chained to a heart shaped moon
Don’t need walking shoes
Imagination to get around
And carry on this tune

Don’t take credit, don’t need cash
There is no five and dime
But they still line up in the streets
Cause all they’ve got is time

There is no place to go
Chained to a heart shaped moon
Bags, whistles and rowing boats
We carry on this tune

It’s hidden deep inside the words
Buried in the pain
Our roller coaster wheels on fire
But still we’re glad we came.

© 3/27/1998
William Grant Preston

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