Led through the mist,

By the milk-light of moon,

All that was lost, is revealed.

Our long bygone burdens, mere echoes of the spring,

But where have [bad word]  and where shall we end?

If dreams [bad word] [bad word]  then why not pretend?

Oh how the gentle wind,

Beckons through the leaves,

As autumn colors fall.

Dancing in a swirl,

Of golden memories,

The loveliest lies of all,

The loveliest, lies of all.