As the sun comes creeping up the mountain and the wind blows over from the sea.
Hey, we’re brought into this land like tiny particles of sand, unsure of who we’re smarter than, or what we’re meant to be.
Oh the grains sift coarsely through the hour glass and collect like their victims in the bowl.
The ungodly force of change erodes all sense of earthly gains. While tending to the mundane will terrorize your soul.
And it’s no! It’s no use thinking that you’re wrong. The past is old and gone. It’s best to move along and find your Avalon.

Well, I wish that I could tell you it was easy, just take the paved road right to paradise. But the
truth is my friend, the pain and suffering never ends. Make amends with medicine, amnesia, and lies.
The grains sift coarsely through the hour glass and they pound like boulders on the brain.
All those things you did for fun, never hurting anyone, careless shadows in the sun, just empty and lame.
And it’s no . . . it’s no use thinking that you’re wrong. The past is old and gone. It’s best to move
along and find your Avalon.

So now the day races from the twilight. How the fields are enveloped by the shade. And the story
that you’ll tell, inventory of your well, crack the shell and find the mortar silted and decayed.
And it’s no! It’s no use thinking that you’re wrong. The past is dead and gone. It’s best to move
along and find your Avalon. It’s best to hurry on and find your Avalon.