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?