Where I collect the found and the lost.
My father, he held my hand and then he let go…and I’m still trying to find him, everywhere I go.
I looked into the mirror to try to find myself. I am still looking.
There was a time when we had the power. Where did it go?
Sometimes being in traffic is converted into a quasi-Spiritual experience, thanks to the skies. And the sun.
So much silence, and yet so very loud..I can try very hard and still hear us.
What pomp, what hoopla
Kicked off before I had a chance to walk..and you call this living?
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