Standing in the road anew with a rolled up 20 in my shoe, I lift my eyes to meet the setting sun.
Well growing up in the mountains tall will make a boy likely to fall, and I will again before the war is won.
But all the ways I used to walk betray the doors I now I unlock--
You always saw what I was heading toward.
But I fear the space may be askew in the place that I am running to.
Sometimes it seems the halls are all explored.

There was a time when the mist was light.
It's hard to recall it right, just how the rock felt beneath my bones
And how the starlight seemed to cast a mystery on all that passed,
On each one of the nighttime's aging stones.
But there was so much left to do, it was easy not to listen to the whispers the evening did intone.
We had simple things to say and simple songs to sing all day.
We claimed each falling light to be our own.

You awake my soul from being so afraid,
You awake my soul from feeling things will never be the same.
You awake my soul, you awake.

The water laps upon the shore and all the insects whistle for the walking pair who snicker as they pass,
And as they go the still descends, the black-gray softness makes amends, and starts again its still-proceeding mass.
But none could hear it if they tried.
The languages of lakes abide.
The trouble is, they always speak so slow that though our time is on the wing, we're often drawn from listening to all the fire tells us here below.

You awake my soul like branches in the glen,
You awake my soul and it will never go to sleep again.
You awake my soul, you awake.

Your tiger's mouth, your opal rings, and all of your volcanic things that didn't turn to sand at someone's touch;
Your glassy prayer that almost cries to climb your dusty staircase eyes and tell me what you're hiding in the hutch.
I want to lean against your door and read the books you're saving for a tree that will protect you from the rain, but your castle voice won't let me rest until my songs I have confessed and all your hidden matchsticks I obtain.

I'm thinking of a story old that some grandfather one time told about a prince and the trails on which he wends.
He meets a man who fixes clocks, befriends some kind of speaking fox... but I can't seem to remember how it ends.
Maybe the old man forgot it too as zephyrs outside softly blew.
His words that night maintained their subtle glow.

Though all the details may not fit,
Still in the end you must admit
We all make up our stories as we go.

You awake my soul like the abbey on the isle,
You awake my soul with bluster like a lion tamer's smile.
You awake my soul, you awake.

You awake my soul with fever and with snow,
You awake my soul by knowing things that no one else could know.
You awake,

You awake my soul, my tiny boat is thrown,
You awake my soul and now I know I'll never be alone.
You awake my soul.
You awake.