There’s treasure in the hills that hold us back Too high to climb, so here we stay Where crops burn in arid fields We search for buried gold while our stores run dry...
Treasure in Hills Too High
The Cobbler’s Workshop
The cobbler stands out front of his shop Smoking a cigarette on the street corner And I’m thinking how close he is to a storybook character Maybe he is one...
Under a Moving Sky
Light shows play out along a gossamer thread In air the wild ones breathed A beast of many eyes is ready to lift you out Should color lose its meaning, or gain it anew...
Townsend Lane
At the end of the topmost branch our precipice awaits Swaying with the music of the wind These clouds passing by would surely catch us Already we have lain among them and watched the world.
Nobody Read the Script
The breaking point was passed long ago Yet here we are pushing, surprised at the resistance Mad as hell, yet still taking it and more.
