If you intend to live again,
then open your eyes and don't pretend you're feeling there's nothing worth believing.
God, if you persist you'll die like this,
and wither in the midst of your first season,
cut down with no reason.
How can you be so near and not see everything?
If you intend to live again,
then take the outstreched hand of the one that needs you.
It's been so long, we've missed you.
Why do you intend to speed your end?
Lie in the dark and let your limbs grow weaker, sinking low then deeper.
How can you be so near and not see everything?
Feel what might be. See what I see.
Again and again and again and again say you don't.
You say you don't, but you will.
How can you be so near and not see?
An August day in the hills of Spain, a pair of children emerged from a cave.
The strangest sight there alone they stood,
with skin of green and words no one had heard.
The girl was stronger, the boy was weak,
with her new mother she learned to speak.
And wove a tale of a dying sun, they had left darkness,
a dark world come undone.
They travelled so far. Believing they came from a star.
She fell through life, through time, through parallel lives.
The men of science, the men of fame, the men of letters tried to explain:
Was it parallel worlds or a twist of time to make her
think she'd fallen from the sky?
A whirlwind spun them all alone, took them from their twilight home.
Believing they came from a star.
