A boy, sitting on a lonely swing,
in a lonely park.
A wind chime in the distance; “ding… ding…”
and to the beat of the chime,
wildflowers dance in the dark.
A boy, laying under a barren oak tree,
in a barren field.
A lamenting crow and the buzzing of a bee.
And the want, the need to go to the wind chimes
could hardly be concealed.
A boy, standing in a musty bus,
leaving that musty town behind.
And that boy who was once one of us, was now the first of us
to chase the wind chime;
With nothing but hope, trusting blind.
A man, dancing on a bright stage,
in a bright new place.
A bright new star, just eighteen years of age.
And when he dances, he hears the wind chimes,
and can't help the smile overtaking his face.