Walk out in the moonlight
near the fireside.
Hear the drums, the strumming strings.
Somebody sings to match the cricket symphony.
White picket fences line the trail.
We run on sailing feet.
The wind is fleet around us.
Flying high to carry on
with every song.
There is a story to be told;
a dream unfolds and now
I see you standing still
afraid to move and break the spell.
We'll never tell a soul about this sight.
Near the fireside,
in the moonlight.
Catch a dream in your hands, my dear, and keep it close to you