

I close my eyes and try to see
What face we wear in eternity
Are we the children playing on the lawn
Or the silvered ones before the dawn? (hmmmmm)
Does the spirit choose the perfect hour
The peak of life,
the fading flower?
In the light, we are timeless and whole
No lines of age upon the soul
No heavy clay, no fading grace
Just the true beauty of our maker's face (ooh-ooh-ooh)
Some say we wake at thirty-three
The age of grace and mystery
But others dream of childhood eyes
Unbroken under quiet skies
We shed the rust of passing years
The heavy dust of human tears
No longer bound by what we lost
Beyond the winter, past the frost
In the light, we are timeless and whole
No lines of age upon the soul
No heavy clay, no fading grace
Just the true beauty of our maker's face
No age, no form
Just the endless morning,
warm (ahhhh)