The bright convoy erodes the mountain stew,
Feeds the delta banks of time.
And the grains commence their reconstruction game,
But whirls as dust in our eyes.
So you see it leaves me with my memory in my pocket,
And I'll sleep under the tide of dreams.
And I'll dream under the wings of time,
And I'll tie the grains of oblivion.
Times of thirst when money won't come by,
Will leave the dust to settle down,
Shape the road that feeds our lemming hearts
To history's repeating quake.
So you see it leaves me with a reason not to bother,
'Cause I'll sleep under the tide of dreams,
I'll tie the grains of oblivion.