You, the writer, knew
 You, the writer cared
 Sold, are things once told
 Old, are things once bold
 The diamonds and the gold
 They are for real
 Depending on the way they make you feel
 We can touch the sky
 You, oh you and I
 I can count to two
 But we can count to three
 I line them up and they stare back at me
 Creations in the mind and soul of me
 Drift
 Fall
 Blue
 Call
 You, the writer, knew
 You, the writer, cared
 The diamonds and the gold
 They are for real
 Depending on the way they make you feel