• In a cemetery I've been in before, when I was young. I was bright eyed, clear of heart, with a head in the clouds. So full of life and imagination, I would float in my world of fantasy. The graveyard I ran through, with no respect for the dead, even though I feared it. Copying the words onto paper that were made to last forever, so that they might leave an impression on a young mind. In this cemetery to escape the death in my head now, my mind so clouded with dread how it corrupts the soul. It has darkened over the years, with the ages past still running through the graveyard right in front of me. I see it in the movement of the tree's leaves, when I have to duck down to walk the path is returns me to the times past. When so low was my highest point, I was there again. I've come to this gathering of death to kill something within myself. I'm finished, to the concern of have a clouded head and not a head in the clouds. I've lost my view, and all I have is my vision. I came here in a sub-conscious decision, to drown myself so that I might gain that respect for the dead. I have my sight but I can't seem to see. Drowning myself on the dry land, as my eyes burn and can't seem to see the wetness into the soft sands of earth I wish to return to. Bewildered by the circumstance of a love soon to be lost, I give it one last try to melt away the frosty despair that has its grip on my soul. The time has come to once again leave this place of morbid reflection. I'm back in the clouds with a new fantastic inspiration, no more fanciful imagination. No longer in flight from reality, but in full flight of life once again. I walk the high, broad highway that was once so narrow I would often stumble off the course; hand in hand, with my fantastic inspiration.

    The stones there aren't silent but they hush seeing you
    The trees are talking too there but they cross their branches against you
    It's a gentle pushing away
    Pushing youth and spark out into light
    When you don't look back
    They are all talking again

    Those stones, they go silent and await my return. Knowing how my mind tends to twist, it turns. The trees as they danced, and dance as they always have. The trees, as they talk; taking the same stance they always have. Like the air, I’m blown by the same unseen force. As the wind I’ve no choice in this pre-outset course. I can’t take the chance to see what they’d say. If I did, there’s a sure, I’d be there to stay.