As in my books I condense my thoughts.
Today is not such a simple one anymore.
I'd grab any ordinary imagination I have,
and tell the world, what they might miss.
Don't think about treasuring your ideas.
They might be better in any other head.
As being an artist runs out of its essence,
only time can ever judge the worth of one.
Thursday, August 18, 2011
Sunday, August 7, 2011
And August comes to mind,
be in panic or bliss.
Totally missing my days,
but playing around forever isn't my type.
So it came to another Sunday,
where churches sing and people pray.
Still I'm missing my days,
and playing around forever is what I've done.