Posted: June 26, 2014 in Musings, Poetry
Tags: , , ,

Birds that do music
And musicians that do sound
It’s a whirpool of twist
And of chasing around

A man on four feet
A child standing on two
Red balloons flying freely
Falling suddenly without a clue

The turn of the next century
And of brand-new antiques
The most common passersby
Dating candlelight romantics

Follow the railroad tracks
Where it leads you can’t tell
Over and beneath the bridge
It’s as pure as the soul you sell

A place for lying down
For watching reruns over and over
It’s like the feeling of nothing around
Of love lasting definitely forever


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