War will hit the blue. Cause they might be the few. But lines our bended hope. Like races down in slopes. But as for me now. I'll lay beneath the willow. Close my heavy eyes. Dream that I will shine for you. And then I will be something. Perfect in your eyes. And I would make your dreams come true. War will hit the green. But most will follow three. The three like on his belt. And arching as he knelt