| Distant hands in foreign lands
|
| Are turning hidden wheels
|
| Causing things to come about
|
| Which no one seems to feel
|
| All invisible from where we stand
|
| The connections come to pass
|
| And though too strange to comprehend
|
| They affect us nonetheless, yes
|
| Once again a time of change
|
| Oh the change makes music
|
| And the children will dance
|
| See the pieces of the picture
|
| Rearrange themselves
|
| It feels just like a symphony to me
|
| With nothing left to chance
|
| Just look over your shoulder
|
| It’s out of your hands, it’s over for now
|
| Leave behind what you can
|
| You can always return
|
| The rhythm remains unbroken, unspoken
|
| But loud and clear
|
| It’s a slow vibration, migration
|
| Oh Mystery muse, how I hunger for an answer
|
| Unsung song, how I long to play the changes
|
| Hidden rhythm, haven’t I always been your dancer?
|
| Sacred secrets of the meaning to my dreaming
|
| Migration
|
| Migration |