It seems that water has made the lighthouse go blind,
No light to capture from the rapture of the night.
What woe! There are ghosts in the creaks of the wood
That haunt illuminescent light bulbs,
Childhood dreams that were still fast asleep.
When there is no time to pray
You go straight for the source,
Against the forces of gravity
Grabbing me from going up, up, up!
"That is enough!" the wind blew and we stood our ground,
But soon we had to stand closer, and we had to stand down.
Lest we be forgotten because the best we did was try,
We descended from the hills, writing our names into the sky.