All the best skipping stones are at the bottom of a lake,
Tossed there by lads long before our time.
What is left for us but imperfection?
An immaculate joy to behold.

The beauty of this worlds flaws
Is that we can truly see
And feel
And not take for granted what we all share.

We threw those stones in the lake,
We were just lads not long ago.
What has left is always with us,
And we carry it in our souls.