Liberation, free at last,
My chains have ceased to be.
Born again through eyes renewed as if I’d found the key.
Eight O’clock, the hand hits four
To cue a different time.
The past has past and present is,
While the future precedes the line.
Come what may as the seasons change
And give to me a Love.
To see, to hold, to be as one
Until we rise above.
by Garret Woo