Moonlit sails on pixie dust,
we chase the echo of the first laugh;
crooked compass spins to heartbeat north,
where clocks forget their faces.
Mermaids trade tears for lullabies,
we stitch them into kites of night;
every scar becomes a star—
a map only the lost can read.
So roar, lost boys of the skyline,
drum the clouds like war-painted tom-toms;
if we never land, we never age—
just rewind the dawn and play it again.