
Arms wide, in the air,
partying like the eighties—
wispy clouds scatter.

Arms wide, in the air,
partying like the eighties—
wispy clouds scatter.

Strolling at sunset,
racing the deep horizon,
to awake the moon.

From beyond the trees,
like a dead man arising—
the sun gathers mist.

In its dying light,
fleeing imminent darkness,
our sun shines brightest.