Fields of green and streams of white, drifting far and near
Echoes in the pale sunlight on a day that's clear
In the morning it's the eve of what I dream

Weathered feet on silent ground, people go and come
Free like gypsy vagabonds, when their work is done
In the evening it's the eve of what I dream

Breathing air that bristles life, spirits roaming free
Heavy smog that choked this town, now is history
It's the dawning and the eve of what I dream