When the last note is played
and the dance is over for the night
when you are home in your bed alone, sleep tight
be well my darling and know, just know
that from the acorns oak trees grow

and stars, like dreams, you cannot touch
but they are real and mean so much
to travelers and wayward souls,
to vagabonds like you and I
who skip their stones on mirrored ponds
and soar with eagles in the sky

Set us free upon the wind
and scatter ashes to the sea
I'll bind my heart to wayward mast
and set a stake that holds me fast
the things before will be set free
the things that are will always be.