Each day this pebble grows smaller, closing in around me, and thickening the air.
The stars here are like key holes out through eternity I stare.
And some days I look out theses eyes like I’m looking through prison bars.
Walking the pebble like I’m walking prison yards.
The pebble pushes up the harder I push down.
So I’ve learned to tread tenderly over this rugged ground.
It’s a rut that I walk ‘til my feet are sore.
A place to put my foot where my foot has been before.
Until the day the pebble mixes with the clay no more night and no more day.
pick the pebble up for heavens sake... save the thing!!!!!!
ReplyDeletePaul is the Walrus and the pepple is the earth. So, Mike, you're wrong. Extinguish your tourch; you're the newest member of the tribal council.
ReplyDelete