So they say you can't come home again,
What if I said I could go back up the yellow brick road;
Don't believe you can't start over,
I tell you alchemy still makes gold.
Nothing is dead forever, no matter how they preach;
Does winter turn fresh again with spring;
A newborn calf, a blissful dawn,
A strong bird that takes wing?
Even the mushroom grows from death,
And I know you know of the Firebird;
Please hasten what I say,
And forget the negativity of their words.
