At the edge of silver the tough scales of a fish streaming through the water,

At the top of tomorrow waits a warm bronze light with cotton candy clouds.

The enemy of green hides between the cotton ball clouds waiting for the warmth of spring,

The shape of the past fits inside an old oak chest locked away.

If you look underneath peace, you might hear the birds softly chirping in the wind,

When you tiptoe through the Valley of Happiness, you might find the soft feelings of rose petals brushing your leg.

If you turn hope on high, you’ll see the sounds of the most high.