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?