The misty morning, grounds of fog,
I gently waken, my heads in song.
Its notes in tune,
With natures swoon,
As all temptation, grows to bloom,
I look ahead, for I shall keep,
My whit’s within, my soul to reap.
The tempered moon, doth slowly glow,
And passes through the ground below.
The sun she rises,
The birds begin, their morning guises,⁵
Their song they sing.
I am disguised the morning brings.
For in the moment, of vacuous light,
The heavens render, oh what a sight.
Its neither day, nor neither night,
The light is frozen, in times delight.
Until the moon its vanished gone,
And the morning hums its virtuous song.
La de la, wake in peace,
La de la the mornings creased,
I take a step, the first that day,
Where I\'m kept, where young ones play,
To climb and run, such endless fun,
Then off to work, where adults lurk,
And innocence is lost,
Paid by the clock,
To make a buck, all bent and broke,
To still die penniless, oh what a joke.
To spend ones life, chasing worth,
Cuts like a knife, right from their birth.
For if the choice, be yours to seek,
Felicity, love and joy, forever kept,
Yet locked up tight, in a treasure chest.
For only the few to finally find,
And share it with the world wide.
For every soul, deserves as such,
These gifts bestowed, on poor and rich.
For every man, has their right,
To receive endowment of frozen time and heavens light.