All the wandering sheep will be foundnAnd the mountains will tumble awaynThe dreamers that fly, they’ll return to the groundnAs the sorrow returns the colors will straynAnd the sheep that were foundnThey go sailing awaynnShe opened her eyes to the OnenHe shined her with all of his glorynAnd the music above was a children’s choirnAs the old man was snoringnThe orchestra roarednAnd they bowed to the throne as if love was a sword