I walk into the old mans shaggy demeanour / in the stride that covers truths lies / I trace my prayers into the consuming sands / offerings to all the lumbering Gods / as I give my stifled thoughts away / to all good frightened prisoners of cicumstance / for those afraid of their turn to be real / for those that have outlived their time / I tread softly when I reach the hard ground / keeping track of moulding memories / for those that throw it all out there / just to see how far the pieces go . Azab
No comments:
Post a Comment