We're dancing on broken glass...
I cannot raise the dead
No matter how much I’ve tried
The golden days of summer have passed
And as we move into the frigid winter
I have found the gilding cheap
And the silver beneath it tarnished
Like the autumn leaves
Memories, so cruel, are all we have
To taunt us with visions of better days
And yet we cling to these specters
As corpses to winding sheets
But I cannot recreate the past
Any more than turn lead into gold
And in the end, we are all dust