My eye sees more than an afternoon of blissful silence

next to a river in a city with malice palaces

as if every word i read could be imagined, procured right in front of my eyes

yeah, let our imaginations run wild

My eye sees more then a quiet street somewhere in Paris

where no man will rest idle

where no woman will seem bridle

Tell me, will love rain down on sweet Paris?

My eye sees more than an antiquitous structures

as we venture into structures of history

we ask ourselves about our own history

only to fathom whether we embrace or loathe our own mysteries?