Before my eyes the sun goes down
On another day, another season.
Planted still, in this old town
Perhaps for some mysterious reason,
But for now the wind is enough.
Tonight, to me, the world seems young.
One story, one song playing through.
Even those lines yet unsung,
Have already been by traced by You.
What will happen between these breaths?
The orange sun slips on.
Wind reminds me: seasons change.
This dusk prepares another dawn;
Routine indwells the strange,
And I ride the ebb and flow.
viewingcamelot 
Say Something