Cold August twilight gathered round, bearing witness, to feel whole.
The Heavens are alive, the past is burning bright, something strangely new, are we really so removed?
We are changing, we are changing sky.
Warm August sunshine, treading on the most sacred ground.
A vacation vision filled, in pose we lock it still, a portrait of our past.
Refugee from progress path.
We are changing sky.
Dawn is breaking, senses numbed by awe.
All around us lies the pain of loss.
And here is the symptom, a symptom of what we willed.
This is the journey, journey for our souls.
A pilgrimage, searching for our home, we have lost our home.
We have lost our home.