Narrow streets of cobblestone
He sinks himself in poetry
Whishing to fade out
Slide away the tree
Bend from the foul
Directed in the air
The lungs he owe
Leaves him bleeding
By his bedside
A single phrase in mind
On paper stretched skin
A glance he brings
A trouble for his soul
A laughter to a crowd
Follow the hollow stone
Disappear to where it’s kept
Pursue his wild irony
Into a garden of awareness
Where a mind blossoms
With a single frame in mind
Turned away from custody
He calls himself from the cliffs
Hear him sigh alone
Don’t turn your head
Steady he will fall
Down to where he belongs
