The wind kicks a little,
Young boys play the fiddle...

Now living the life of a mute he Crys,
For a new hope, or find anew...

I sitting laughing in the corner,
watching the girls flaunt effortless...

Folks from hold take pride in their sons.
Perceiving the war, as nothing but fun...

The old trees no nothing of murder,
the grass yearns of innocence...

Gardens are for girls alas thats what we think,
The wise man nods thus he turns to speak...

When he speaks we know,
we speak yet silence is enlightening...

Passages of time rot,
I am thrown with my own lot...

I seek thee in all your glory,
Go on and unravel your story...

Look at me, aren't I keen,
on the precious means, than you have seen...

I love my views,
respecting others just as well...

Walking down the road I see the way,
the air was hot, leaving me with little to say...