Gone, gone, gone
With the wind
A puff of smoke on
Breezes we spin
Gradually, to deny
What we really are
Will make us rely
On the fading spark
Left on the side of the road
He had a name like us
Cursed with a code
For ignorance from us
He was gone, gone
Gone with the wind
I'll miss him, perhaps
Studio B
- Mark
- When you need to wake up in the morning, and set the right mood for the day, when you need to escape from the overwhelming everything of life. What do you turn to? How do you describe your core without speaking aloud, without having to talk to someone about it? This is how. Music. Lyrics. Poetry. Do you feel it? Do you? It's here, it's everywhere, locked within you, within the most tone deaf of us. It's begging to be released, become unleashed in a tearing chord, a crying melody, soulful harmony, dying lyric. You feel it yet? It's concealed here, within every word that I write. This is my release. I want you to see it, to feel it with me. This pure expression of every tangible and imaginable emotion known and unknown to man. To me. Welcome to The Window.