Sat alone in a London Park again
My friends
I will wait until it gets dark and what then?
What then
And where are you now as I get lost in this crowd...
Of dead eyes
My bags on my shoulder my book in my hand, people watching
I'm lonesome but that comes from a
change, & these days I feed from my emotions
Why won't it bend, why must it break?
I love the trees and all of their twisted forms, oh lord
I love the old ones best, all gnarly and forlorn, oh lord
My bags on my shoulder my book in my hand, people watching
I'm lonesome but that comes from a
change, & these days I feed from my emotions
Why won't it bend, why must it break?
And where are you now, as I get lost in this crowd?
