At 10:00 pm sharp!

The trumpet sounds as though it carries my old dream,

In time for those twinkling stars,

And it sounds as though it's going to make good in my

dream,

In time for those bright stars.

Somehow at this rather quiet night in the black as coal,

Hearing light little gasps of them sharing a room,

In the way of tuning that bad,

I just remember my old days for a moment.

The fragrance of the Diamond pine trees in the green

woods,

The smell of the violet Hepaticas which hide in the valley,

The clean cut brave-homes in the parade ground,

And their brilliant eyeballs,

They touch me on my memory in a sudden.

There's a lot of noise on main street,

If they know these, though.

Under the lights in the farmerages up there,

The missing dream of mine,

Washes up in calm flames any minute.