Just as we were once nomads clad in bearskin
In a land before time,
prancing through the fields of tomorrow,
coming together in a union of bliss—
Looking for answers,
when the space between us,
held the only truth we sought in jest.
Slowly it comes, slowly it comes—
Beauty, will you still be here?
Beauty, will you awake?
Beauty, will you remember?
Beauty, what did you take?
Time stood still and
a sightly clue
to this telling tale.
And what became
It was mystery’s answer to destiny’s claim.
Déjà vu, two lakes, too soon, two moons,
and sevens were strewn throughout—
Could it be so,
the answer in tow,
begot what beget those in doubt?
What would become,
and what became—
was a lull within which sweet fortune
was tempted to fall—
but surely not!
Truth remained hope,
hope remained bare,
and in hope was placed,
Just as we were once nomads clad in bearskin at night—
throughout my life,
all the faith and care,
forever my love, with you I will share.