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