Crawl, you will be given a fate worse than death. Live without fear or regret. Run with me and make the kills. Then lay to sleep, lay down, And dream of love and thrills. In which all is sublime Where grey turns to gold All which was known is now lost to time.
Pain turns to gentle carresses.
Melody will soar to beautiful heights, Low 'cello rumbles, then sighs in the end. All in a swift stroke, this turns to full orchestra. Horns and then brass, strings and then wind. It all flows to a climactic chord. For the oboe to take up a slow, sad solo.