Like before - I can hear, those caroling sounds of delightful pleasure and unyielding anger. This place for both, where memory is lost between the lines, And once, we’re we came from. Is only known by who we are now. Soon time will become my shelter. As this stay delivers - another reason why perfection does exist. Like before, I’ll play as the trumpets entertain: Waiting -- Till the music’s over. Once again.
If nothing is something then everything is our thoughts and feelings and all that exists.
[This message has been edited by mysticpoe (09-17-2003 08:33 AM).]