Too many believe in some 'master plan' 'cause it's hard to accept what's not shapen by hand. But here, under the sun, where events can't be undone; once superstition's spent - You gotta know, we want our brothers back. The hurt came down from the clear blue sky. The sands of time went rushing by. It came as a shock, we'd shut our eyes. Is this all that's left, just a slow good-bye? The curators frown and they wax abstract. But, man, if you've found love what could matter more than that? It's a crime and a shame (selfish and vain) to try to justify this pain. I guess they'll think what they will - But before the dawn they'll want their brothers back.