Sunday, May 29, 2011

Sunday, May 15, 2011

Quiet as the grave, the city sleeps, dreaming of a better tomorrow.

 And somewhere, in dreary, abandoned streets, and white as the hills of a northern winter, a goat wanders alone.


Sunday, May 8, 2011

cut out all the ropes and let me fall.

I'll start before I can stop, before I see things the right way up.

How long before I get in?
Before it starts, before I begin?
How long before you decide?
Before I know what it feels like?
Where To, where do I go?
If you never try, then you'll never know.
How long do I have to climb,
Up on the side of this mountain of mine?