The old woodsman who left no trace
All he left us was a book
But we cling to it while we slip away
When you can’t tell the dancer from the dance
She gets into a groove
But it’s the music
She’s moving
Swallowed by a flame so soft and without a name
The fire that consumes the deed
It’s just the art
It’s not about the living
These two ideas sometimes together never seen
But go a little deeper
You might find the space where they finally meet.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
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Fly on Home
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lazy i'm a lazy bones crazy but i aint stoned don't try this at home don't fry your cerebellum headstrong i'm a stubborn foo...
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