I sing with the width of the Dali lama lungs and I verse to nobody as their all on the verses to snow,
each flake shall not rein to this Earth as the Universe calls,
behind these words are the 1960s in I,
the breadth behind to breathe in the now as my friends are in the sigh,
this country gave weight and the measuring fell still to the religions of that day,
today however,
the hi Tech!!
So may these few bars go to the quantum,
might Theta know Pi as the calculations swam my mind so long ago,
that this is just as easy as one, two, three,
grace must place rocks to Mountains,
Valleys must be the bridges that gave to me this song,
as longing is as a hat.
The grief does hold my lung on occasion of November rain,
yet the Winter is a Season that the tree shows I the change of what is human,
today it is sad to see each one of you text to tile your screaming rage,
you kill people,
as those bullets fly to the horror does the wind sing to your shallows,
is your echo the shadow that does not fit?
What of the Rockies that key,
the wonder of what is rung,
the verse to this is the song that sang in San Francisco when I was just a child in a world unknown,
now that I am aware of the people I care to say to all of you that you are cruel,
you forget and believe that a think on a thought makes it all well,
yet the depth of that Well is bottomless to the water that you never shed,
for this I do not wonder your development as I have witnessed the true.
As in most horror stories of reality one is left to witness?,
no,
they're left for memory bone.
Shift not this circle of life as I live for the sunshine and the friends that I know would have been different,
today would have been filled with laughter and company,
the time this evening would have drawn our time to a Monday thought,
our ever wrapped in the week that we would have prepared for in real,
to all those that do not understand San Francisco in 1968 may the summer bright your leaves in your Canada,
may the country of your birth be on the form,
shall that be the hand that you hold than that is good to have a voice,
for I,
I vote for myself as I was not left behind,
I was left witness.
In regards to information or knowledge,
technology is just a wheel,
the data of its time,
chisel to hammer gave the same technology,
for evident the crook and the pottery clay.
I do not need to believe in life before or life after,
it is the shift of life itself,
I celebrate the breadth of my own,
my body,
my read,
my ability to smile on days with no heart,
for you might your soul be with the ones that fit your start.
To gather these words with the knife and fork,
yield to your parental and be sure to respect the cart as wombs are just a beagle on the bay,
the starter,
the sour dough of the somber that makes bread the years of feed,
mind, body and soul don't measure this life as an origin or a hell to heaven over,
what is the shoulder of this life is the leg of our cart.
Harness this with a blind eye and wink for the power of a flag that matches your speaking tone,
harps are for the beauty of only an instrument,
the flute is just a tune,
the piano a note.
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