Nothing and quiet and fragile moments with pain the soul is held
Waiting, what for the waiting? For something of someone never comes
White paper, black characters, hand leads mind, pend leads hand, who leads pen?
And the fated reality still sits on the ghostly steps of a rainful rainful day
Just another rainful rainful day, when the mind stops to think and nothing
Nothing and quiet and fragile moments stretch accross this horizon
The lonely wait, the momentary wait, the passive wait, the never ending wait
For this sky to change, to color and change and the grey to go away
For this moment to pass, to pass on into something else, something less wasting
White paper, black words, who leads who in this game?
Red of red, plucked from the virgin tree, the taste of Eden Lost in Contemporary.
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excuse the poor composition, rusty little thing
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