Find your tribe in a Sea of Creativity
And on the third day I told him I like the street lamp view from the window And I could hear his smile Through a chuckle of thick bush That will never sing in my ears again
The grey indifference between dusk and dawn If I listen closely, I can still hear his swan song Lonely as the sound of lying on the ground Where possibilities pool and dreamers go to drown
Without fail you cross my mind From time to time Spitting skeletal rhymes And climbing mountains in my head Here’s my letter to the dead