Streets full of people with trinkets to share, Offerin them up for the folks in despair. Yandi and crystals and oils for growth, Of spirit and body and mind as we go. Emphasis placed on the body and mind, As the heart is often somewhere behind. Strange. Tiny little bones of the innocent child, Lookin up at me with the saddest of eyes. Is her innocence in tact? Or has it been stained? Has the creature that feeds her taken it away? Strange, so sad its strange. I recognize my health, Things that I have been dealt. Places that I have roamed, Feelins Ive had and things that I know. Home, Im home. Home, Im home, home, home, home. Home, Im home. Runnin through the bush and all of the trees, Movin in time with my capable speed. Skippy ants claw at the edge of the bowl, Of the shell of an egg, of bird long since gone. Maybe it rose up to spread its new wings, Or maybe it nourished a stronger siblin. Strange. Places we roam and people we meet, Some connections are strong, And some of them are weak. 1 or 2 or 3 or 4 or maybe 5 or 6 or more, Strong as the roots of a big old gum tree. And well carry them through, To the next life we see, strange. So beautifully strange. Recognize my health, Things that I have been dealt. Places that I have roamed, Feelins Ive had, things that I know. Home, Im home. Home, Im home, home, home, home. Home, Im home.
Posted on: Tue, 26 Aug 2014 06:45:19 +0000
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