Some might say. Some stand in the sun. Some are blind. One puts his hand in mine. One disappears his name isn't written down. One dies on the lawn. His face turned away from it all. Isn't it evening. I forget if it's always this way. I was told it was gold to this day. I suppose it was always this way. But the memories won't quit. And they tell a story so sad. Isn't it evening. Tears running by. Shaking and terrify. Ones falling down. Nothing remains inside. Broken and cold. His faith lies upon the shore. Fading and thin. One face crushed in lavender. Isn't it evening. I forget if it's always this way. I was told it was gold to this day. I suppose it was always this way. But the memories won't quit. And they tell a story. Isn't it evening. Isn't it evening. Some are blind. One puts his hand in mine. Isn't it evening. Isn't it evening