You, the writer, knew

You, the writer cared

Sold, are things once told

Old, are things once bold

The diamonds and the gold

They are for real

Depending on the way they make you feel

We can touch the sky

You, oh you and I

I can count to two

But we can count to three

I line them up and they stare back at me

Creations in the mind and soul of me

Drift

Fall

Blue

Call

You, the writer, knew

You, the writer, cared

The diamonds and the gold

They are for real

Depending on the way they make you feel