Being the rebel I once was
my desire to fly across that water...
I walk only a short way
which takes forever...
If an accident occurs
who takes the blame...
The Days Of Old
In the days of old...
The space is as the result of
our disunion...
Stood at a crossroad
deciding which path to take...
If I had ever transferred some of my time in to a...
it still would not have grown interest...
The hands on the clock stand still
to see them move on one more second...
I do not have
A guiltless soul...
Fall is moving in
a new season begins...
Hate
abhor, detest...
The tree was old,
gnarled, and twisted...