Whose are these?
They are not mine.
They must come from some other time.
Some other place, long ago
I watched their water drawn from snow.
These eyes that wince
Not of my face
They grasp memories I dare not trace
These eyes that cry
Songs I don't know
And yet their tune so broke his flow
I stole them from your daughter!
I stole them from your mother!
These hands of the lost child
Their dreams remain defiled
Their dreams remain defiled
Their dreams remain.