When were gone, where do we go?

Is it just a field filled with fallen snow?

Or is it a land, of eternal bliss?

Does god send us off, with a parting kiss?

When we leave, where do we end up?

Far away from this land, which has become corrupt.

The streets we’ll walk on, will they be paved with gold?

Will they tell us stories, older than old?

Just how exactly, will we end?

Before we started, way back when.

When there were no lights or cars or cash.

Oh, if only, we could go back.

Back to when, there were no divisions of democracy.

Why can’t we go back, to what it’s supposed to be?