I think I have a mindset often that is detrimental in its own, and though I try to step so wisely, the broken stone I always walk. But beautiful in mine eyes are Stones, and where they roll, I will follow. For them I can't gather moss, but my own I'll bring along. And in the endless summer swelter, that shakes the world on its crutches, songs we'll sing unto the morrow, until before the sun the world, in its place, shall rock. No longer will the sky be blue, his sadness melted by the songs. And we, that's me and the stones I follow, will roll on and on and on and on.