Open the wounds of those old, old eyes
Look in the heart of a lion
He's thinking of blue eyes, and one spring sunrise,
and counting the clicks of the small hand.
Oh, oh - he's lost all regrets with his memories.
Oh, oh - he's redeemed by the lack of his enemies.
Oh, oh - it's beautiful morning to be 23!
Like a comet in orbit, its coming all back,
and he picks up his feet as he picks up his hat.
Oh, oh, oh to be 23!
His laces are tied and his shoulders are square.
The bullets gleam as they scream through the air.
He tries to remember what the President said,
But all that's recalled are faces of the dead.
Oh, oh – he's charging the clerk with his bakery.
Oh, oh – in his eyes the bayonet's glimmering!
The earth it seems moves in circles,
but he was a man of straight lines.
How was he supposed to know
the trajectories weren't aligned?
A park bench as old as the soles of his shoes,
the grass by the grave, young and fine.
She straightens his tie, and the smile that she smiles -
how it brings out the blue in her eyes!
Oh, oh - she dances like sunlight is oxygen.
Oh, oh - what he wouldn't give to see her again!