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It is the pounding and swirling of life that sings abstracts to
my soul;
I dance my own story, bending my neck for peace and right;
And the winds from the passing horses stir the idle spirits from
Changing direction with the present danger.




Humming asphalt is the stage of the circus of the trade of the
Grinding rushing city of this age...
Worn-in carpets are the place where young artists are faced
With the yellow-toothed hecklers of idealess rage...
And beneath the cloudless sky lies a delusion and a lie
Where the gifted must be nimble to dodge the cunning of the
Who had known that such a place,the bastion of disgrace could
Deceive the human race and have us tuning in for more...
I've always known but still I came another victim of the game
Fighting, scratching to get in it's fabled door...
But this bird it keeps on singing, never stopping, always willing
With sweaty claws heartily digging trying harder than before.