I bet he remembers the way that golden hew trickled down our necks

And one by one we fell, Shilo remembers.

It lingers like a coma, that spark is dangerously close.

And on the count of three we all collapsed when we were supposed to dance.

That caused quite a stir, we fought until we fell, who cares about the staff

We had the last laugh, finally

And Lord knows how we got it but that throwing star was deeply embedded

In that tree stump by the bike rake.

Bottles of glue, stacks of wood, hammers and nails but there was no time for Lazer Tag.

And that isolated sound is how we knew that the

Summers went on and on

Ribbons flowing, ribbons flying, just like a ticker tape parade.

But what was all the counting for if nobody kept track.

He was counting back from ten, over and over again, we thought it was magic.

But there’s no magic here.