There must be some way out of here ...

"There must be some way out of here; has been one ev'ry time!"
I repeat it to myself again, but I just can't see the line.
Time is not a healer, time's a changer in slow-dance. For sure
review will show one story; but the meaning is by chance.

"Don't get lost with the driftwood", my echo coyfully spoke,
"This all will end soon enough and the punchline is mere a joke.
So will you please not rest your head, in lies of dreams and despair,
The brave will fall in dumbness, and only whistlers be crowned the fair."

All along on this winding road, flee the dancers into the dark,
Stolen faces alternate, on top of reloaned ancient arks.
I'm looking out in the distance, for an untouched flickering light,
But all the signs are sleepy now, an the traces hidden right.