stoned flowers

 
cotton petals down my brain
make the path to no domain
tears in struggle across the rain

the mirror is an unsuspecting plain
passing us by like a train or
like links and links in a chain

blood in the wrists will be drain
nerves make account of no pain
windmills turn to complain

there are no echoes from the refrain
sounds will never be there again
they're lost in the sand like a grain


PAR