Here comes the old man dressed in flowers
From the lands where darkness sleeps
In his hands he holds a new set of (hours?) and spare parts
He's come to collect the empty lives
And sweep up last night's broken (thoughts?)
Here comes the old man dressed in dreams
From the lands where hate is dead
In his hands he holds a new bag of schemes and lost arts
He's come to change the sheets of (sun?)
And sweep up last night's broken parts
Here comes the old man dressed in (suns/songs)
From the lands where darkness hides
In his hands he holds a box of clocks that stops and starts
He's come to mend the promises
And sweep up last night's broken hearts
Broken hearts
Broken hearts