Louis Armstrong playing trumpet on the Judgment Day.
Whoever you pretend to be, you must face yourself eventually.
The evening sings in a voice of amber, the dawn is surely coming.
Jimi Hendrix played loud and free, Sergeant Pepper was real to me.
You reach out your hand, but you're all alone, in those time passages.
Look to the past and remember no empire rises that sooner or later won't fall.
Nothing that's forced can ever be right, if it doesn't come naturally, leave it.
Looking so cool, his greed is hard to conceal, he's fresh out of law school, you gave him a license to steal.
We measure our days out in steps of uncertainty not turning to see how far we've come. And peer down the highway from here to eternity and reach out for love on the run.