It's time to make the world again How could it be that this world keeps on With its roaming Its lostness Its sweetness Its cruelty Its little loves Its big dramas Its actual flowers flowering Its potential flowers failing to flower Its generations of beautiful youths pouring toward decay and isolation Its rivers of confusion wider than lifetimes Its masterful infantile gelatin that binds days Its echoes of long drowned rituals Its web of destinations as broad and inflamed as the visible stars Its entities Its connections Its unity How can it be?