is this something worth writing could it mean something to someone somewhere
are you reading listening can you hear
me iím just a passer-by without answers nothing but questions
have i stopped making sense am i lost in insensitivity irrationality, in quintessential incoherence sombre in my reflections a particle without nucleus ember caught in the wind is this all that iíll ever be
me iím just a passer-by until the sun sets bearing your book of...
the breadth between my chest and the edge of universe is not a far thing, but with this pain i have, i canít seem to reach it. for some time i have thought of packing my life in a cardboard box, post it as far away as i could, still, i donít have the address of where my soul is. it must be lost somewhere in-between, looking for that elusive place. i'm sure somewhere out there, in this immensity, infinity, there is one for me. not that i ask for much, just a little corner with a cabin in the middle of my heart and that sunlight, to warm my bones. well, this is the thing, im writing you this...
all is not lost as i talk to my leaden skin soaked in this dark paradise did you know here lies the soul of a man cast into the crevices beneath the quake his time has come knocking on the doors of condemnation what is it you want and he thought the sweet smell of green fields over rivers that flow