Whose are these?   They are not mine.   They must come from some other time.   Some other place, long ago   I watched their water drawn from snow.      These eyes that wince   Not of my face   They grasp memories I dare not trace      These eyes that cry   Songs I don't know   And yet their tune so broke his flow      I stole them from your daughter!   I stole them from your mother!   These hands of the lost child   Their dreams remain defiled   Their dreams remain defiled       Their dreams remain.