My secret garden is where I lay, midst the leaves on the mossy floor. Where the wind rings like sacred bells in the air and my body feels heavy no more. Where colours reign in forever blossoming doom of all that is dreary and long; For everything here is in constant change, even my heart's ongoing song. Here I will wait, in the trees, by the lanes and build me a home of dreams; for as long as I live, and in constant wake and let everything be what it seems. In patience I'll wait although idle I won't, for someone to here come along on this path that I built with the dreams laid as stones, to join in my ongoing song.
Incoherent musings, en människa emellan.