My Silence.. Here I hold the a parchment raised to the sky..

ugg,,

anyhow i creativity, is grand,
sometimes bumbling oafs are the wisdom that keeps the freedom..

anyhow.. until you know how it feels I want no judgment...

Open your minds...

Peace...

[edit on 19-5-2009 by Adrifter]

Edgar Allan Poe (1809-1849), American poet, critic, short story writer, and author of such macabre works as “The Fall of the House of Usher” (1840);

I looked upon the scene before me - upon the mere house, and the simple landscape features of the domain - upon the bleak walls - upon the vacant eye-like windows - upon a few rank sedges - and upon a few white trunks of decayed trees - with an utter depression of soul which I can compare to no earthly sensation more properly than to the after-dream of the reveller upon opium - the bitter lapse into everyday life - the hideous dropping off of the veil. There was an iciness, a sinking, a sickening of the heart - an unredeemed dreariness of thought which no goading of the imagination could torture into aught of the sublime. What was it - I paused to think - what was it that so unnerved me in the contemplation of the House of Usher?

Contributing greatly to the genres of horror and science fiction, Poe is now considered the father of the modern detective story and highly lauded as a poet. Walt Whitman, in his essay titled “Edgar Poe’s Significance” wrote;

Poe’s verses illustrate an intense faculty for technical and abstract beauty, with the rhyming art to excess, an incorrigible propensity toward nocturnal themes, a demoniac undertone behind every page. … There is an indescribable magnetism about the poet’s life and reminiscences, as well as the poems.

Poe’s psychologically thrilling tales examining the depths of the human psyche earned him much fame during his lifetime and after his death. His own life was marred by tragedy at an early age (his parents died before he was three years old) and in his oft-quoted works we can see his darkly passionate sensibilities—a tormented and sometimes neurotic obsession with death and violence and overall appreciation for the beautiful yet tragic mysteries of life. They who dream by day are cognizant of many things which escape those who dream only by night.—“Elonora”. Poe’s literary criticisms of poetry and the art of short story writing include “The Poetic Principal” and “The Philosophy of Composition”. There have been numerous collections of his works published and many of them have been inspiration for popular television and film adaptations including “The Tell-Tale Heart”, “The Black Cat”, and “The Raven”. He has been the subject of numerous biographers and has significantly influenced many other authors even into the 21st Century.

Edgar Poe was born on 19 January 1809 in Boston, Massachusetts, the son of actors Elizabeth Arnold Hopkins (1787-1811) and David Poe (1784-1810). He had a brother named William Henry (1807-1831) and sister Rosalie (1811-1874). After the death of his parents Edgar was taken in by Frances (d.1829) and John Allan (d.1834), a wealthy merchant in Richmond, Virginia.


Young Edgar traveled with the Allans to England in 1815 and attended school in Chelsea. In 1820 he was back in Richmond where he attended the University of Virginia and studied Latin and poetry and also loved to swim and act. While in school he became estranged from his foster father after accumulating gambling debts. Unable to pay them or support himself, Poe left school and enlisted in the United States Army where he served for two years. He had been writing poetry for some time and in 1827 “Dreams”—Oh! that my young life were a lasting dream! first appeared in the Baltimore North American, the same year his first book Tamerlane and Other Poems was published, at his own expense.

When Poe’s foster mother died in 1829 her deathbed wish was honoured by Edgar and stepfather John reconciling, though it was brief. Poe enlisted in the West Point Military Academy but was dismissed a year later. In 1829 his second book Al Aaraaf, Tamerlane and Minor Poems was published. The same year Poems (1831) was published Poe moved to Baltimore to live with his aunt Maria Clemm, mother of Virginia Eliza Clemm (1822-1847) who would become his wife at the age of thirteen. His brother Henry was also living in the Clemm household but he died of tuberculosis soon after Edgar moved in. In 1833, the Baltimore Saturday Visiter published some of his poems and he won a contest in it for his story “MS found in a Bottle”. In 1835 he became editor and contributor of the Southern Literary Messenger. Though not without his detractors and troubles with employers, it was the start of his career as respected critic and essayist. Other publications which he contributed to were Burton’s Gentleman’s Magazine (1839–1840), Graham’s Magazine (1841–1842), Evening Mirror, and Godey’s Lady’s Book.

After Virginia and Edgar married in Richmond in 1836 they moved to New York City. Poe’s only completed novel The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym was published in 1838. The story starts as an adventure for a young Nantucket stowaway on a whaling ship but soon turns into a chilling tale of mutiny, murder, and cannibalism.

It is with extreme reluctance that I dwell upon the appalling scene which ensued; a scene which, with its minutest details, no after events have been able to efface in the slightest degree from my memory, and whose stern recollection will embitter every future moment of my existence.—Ch. 12

Poe’s contributions to magazines were published as a collection in Tales of the Grotesque and Arabesque (1840) which included “The Duc de L'Omelette”, “Bon-Bon” and “King Pest”. What some consider to be the first detective story, “The Murders in the Rue Morgue” was published in 1841;

Now, brought to this conclusion in so unequivocal a manner as we are, it is not our part, as reasoners, to reject it on account of apparent impossibilities. It is only left for us to prove that these apparent ‘impossibilities’ are, in reality, not such.

Poe’s collection of poetry The Raven and Other Poems (1845) which gained him attention at home and abroad includes the wildly successful “The Raven” and “Eulalie” and “To Helen”;

Lo, in yon brilliant window-niche
How statue-like I see thee stand,
The agate lamp within thy hand,
Ah! Psyche, from the regions which
Are Holy Land!

Poe continued to write poetry, critical essays and short stories including “Ulalume”, “Eureka” and “The Cask of Amontillado” (1846


www.online-literature.com...

all credit goes to the above website..



[edit on 19-5-2009 by Adrifter]

thanks

[edit on 19-5-2009 by Adrifter]

Once upon a time
I was of the mind
To lay your burden down
Leave you where you stood
You believed I could
You'd seen it done before
I could read your thoughts
And tell you what you saw
And never say a word
But now all that is gone
Over with and done
Never to return

And I can tell you why
people die alone
I can tell you I'm
A shadow on the sun

Staring at the loss
Looking for the cause
And never really sure
Nothing but a hole
To live without a soul
And nothing to be learned

And I can tell you why
People go insane
I can show you how
You could do the same
I can tell you why
The end will never come
I can tell you I'm
A shadow on the sun

Shapes of every size
Move behind my eyes
Doors inside my head
Bolted from within
Every drop of flame
Lights a candle in
Memory of the one
Who lived inside my skin

I can tell you why
People go insane
I can show you how
You could do the same
I can tell you why
The end will never come
I can tell you I'm
A shadow on the sun

Shadow on the sun
Shadow on the sun
Shadow on the sun
Shadow on the sun
Shadow on the sun
Shadow on the sun
Shadow on the sun
Shadow on the sun
Sun
Sun

www.sing365.com...


sorry, boys,

the game is just as this...

time to wake up..
for those staring at the cause..
well its time to be sure..

Hollow is a bad way to live..


[edit on 19-5-2009 by Adrifter]

thanks guys...


Just a smile on my own tonight...

Keep up the great work...



[edit on 19-5-2009 by Adrifter]

reply to post by Adrifter


rum and poetry don't mix to well...




their was a face looking at a dusty mirror,
on the back of a reflection from a pool of radiance,
dripping itself into the heart that beats just right...

Silence is a applause,
where all that is wrong is the gift he did not wish..

Vivid remembrances of the fires,
that burn ending all the faults, taking all the air that was left,
before we eloped into this red starless twilight..

I have these words on the tip of my tongue,
revealing the things before its time,
seems strange to the reality,
it changes the fabric,
perhaps ripping the threads of time,
leaving no substitutes, just holes.

When our lands begin to shake in our hands,
we start to look back to remember the feelings ,
the feelings that were stolen, and buried in a hole,
far bellow our souls.. As we look thru our eyes we still hide behind the lies,
our substance of life feeds off of the minutes, hours, days, and months of our memories, in which all in all living in a dream, where no boundaries constrict the freedoms of discovery..

A pirate on a pirate ship,
holds the scroll,
where the map shows where it is we had to let go,
where the X lies,
is the greatest surprise...

Yet the man still cannot shake the shadow of his soul..

Stumbling while mumbling towards the door,
it is dark and cold,
sight not to unfold to the light,
the sounds of a middle eastern instrument is strummed,
a dancing silhouette rambles in his mind,
in a time where the chef's prepare a orderve where the scent rises higher in the lowest hours of time, in a day where all the worries are washed away, where friends are there to stay.

When they come around,
they all have frowns,
when they follow the trail,
they reach the point of rocks,
just to go back around.

I don't want to see,
when I am swimming across this sea,
to a ocean where the waves turn to wakes,
and I grasp the softness of space,
the sounds they perpetuate my mind,
with a levity and sense unfounded,
sitting in one place,
yet drifting past what it is before my face,
marooned we sit still in our cocoons,
the sounds of the forest the tree's creaking while dancing majestically in the wind, where the evergreens hold the triumph time and time again.

My eyes scan the skies,
for the blinding light hiding within the darkness of night,
evermore I try to rise even more,
cascades of my past show a history even the brave would try to pass,
Alone and cold, sitting on a glacier that is all my own,
my eyes frozen in a time,
where stares show no cares,
where my breath is shown slow,
and not even being unfolded,
a wasted place,
somewhere where even God would not face,
distantly a wind is blowing,
alive with a infinite mind,
enigmatic and unsensable with my eyes,
only felt by the pressense in the currents of drifts here and bellow,
the first instrument of sound, alive and profound the breath of life,
wallowing without sight,
high and alone bellow the belly of the soul,
lies a mind staring not caring frozen in a hollow laughter,
where the wind blows no warmth,
scarletting a bellow over and over again.




[edit on 22-5-2009 by Adrifter]

Darker the days have become,
their is no shade for the solemn,
the voices are not recognized for some,
the tree's provide no shade,
for the man in the desert who stalls in the burrow with the desert rats who make the furloughs time and time again,

baried in sand
in a man with no hands,
each time he opens his eyes,
his vision is scratched by sand,
that he cannot wipe off,
for he has no hands,
drowning in an agony,
burning within a voice crying for the roar or winter to ravish this land,
steadfast he rises seeking the jewels of fools,
from a time before his land turned to the sand,
a blistering heat swelters the meek,
the sound of beauty echoes across the inflammable yet untameable layer of corduroy where he finds his joy.

A language spoken eons ago,
resembles the sounds of music,
enunciated with the softest voice of love,
coming from a fountain with the stoic beauty of the Eloisa of her,
where all that sits still moves,
in the vision of the youth.

Yet with time,
came distortion, a contortion of all,
appeared in man's soul,
a following echo of need,
was respondent to the repotwa of the pronunciation of the voice of all things, it did not conclude with the death of the few,
it needed the touch of the truth,
yet still it flounders within the rifts where we drift time and time again on a raft, where the saft's satchel with the rich at the hip of a pouch where the coins of our death is floundered about...

WHEN ALL ELSE IS SOUND,
and sight is staring at the ground,
and the felt feelings is numb with the man who holds the crown,
the desolation will hear the echoes from the heat from a gun raised upon the only sons we have,
from the last love we shared with the maidens of the sun...

Rebel's revel in the Socrates teaching of how he deciphered our dreams,
yet the synthetic sounds reverb into our sounds,
crying and grasping and harping with the beating of the ground,
hollow it the tap, from a branch full of sap tapping the ground,
we found no feelings of true sound,
listen their is a cowl, its from a howl from a dog in the evanescence of the last sounds it echoes thru a canyon that has no true fen yon past the vanquished requiems of the chords that have been outlawed,
if he that slumbers does not awaken then the murder of the pure is true,
and the druid staring at the redwood in a forest laying to waste will die,
not from his hunger but from his lacking of understanding the numbers..

reminisce

www.youtube.com...

dedicated to my boyz..

[edit on 22-5-2009 by Adrifter]

Soft and subtle,
the decibels reciprocate with the compounds in one man's mind.

He never understood what it was,
not a response nor a glance,
where the heaven cent mint prints the golden plates into shape..

Unwinding.. Lets stop, and say hello to the divine,
here he stands beyond the swords sharp and fine,
cutting even the atoms where the compounds try to comprise a new tune,
to roar open the the heavens gate, with fear.
where the darkest star reciprocates the whale's hallow,
within the belly of the beast lies the happiness of the ignorant meek..

The Knights guide the light,
into the forsaken Night,
where stars shine bright,
and are dragged from the magi,
with machines only the men of the scenes dream..

A transonic contour,
fills the beaches shore,
a border where the fixed twist of sea weeds of forgotten dreams,
damn a damned stream, drying up,
allowing desolation and dry drought of thought to persevere,
its getting hot,
placid palaces rising high binding the all seeing eye,
a flacid wet brow,
full of sweat fills his hair...



[edit on 28-5-2009 by Adrifter]

All that I feel,
it is not real..

A corset, In a Dorset church, where it wishes to fill the pews, with the saving hues which man views of you. Think long and strong, the beating of the drum is the sum, where he acts, proactive in the fall of it all, where the rivers and streams fill the tide, where it reaches up to touch the breeze, high up it seems, past the palisade where the philistines wade. With habit forming comes the howling wind,

reeking at the wretched where the face of fear feeds on the soul..

Its the smell decomposed the remnents of a sorrow,
here comes the son of sin,
a Jacob branch growing from a seed being watered by the waste of a disease..

The sky is no longer blue,
it is substituted with the hue of thru and thru,
from a blade the dark sun on the other side of the flesh of man,
where the shadow walks before the shape where it is the sleep that makes the movements not the act of action in the relentless sea above the undertows..

We all took the cure,
driving our dreams away,
passing the real with oh isn't that a child's thrill,
past the looking glass the dog started to howl again,
at a sight further past the deepest night,
where the shine of the stars light blinded the light,
hanging up in the pocket past the corner pocket where the wretched fool tried to tap a ball full of sorrow into where it would absorb the last touch of love..

With sorrow needing to be fed,
their is a land where waste is beginning to shape its face,
where many flounder drifting while they sift searching the sand for more waste to lay at their hands..

[edit on 28-5-2009 by Adrifter]

Conclusive.. The conclusion,
brings us back to you,
the beginning she stands in s beauty above all it is we call sane,
the mother of all that is true,
that first lesson,
grinning in the seam,
its not the instinct
nor the first melody the first song,
whispered into our hearts before we started to tear it apart,
she lays in a cave eons ago sobbing,
with no sighs of relief just tears that feed the monuments we have placed throughout time, while we lie awake we remember from time to time nestling within her bossum, yet we call that a ill fate and bring forth our hate of how our birth took shape.

She cries for we have believed all the lies,
she see's our fate ravished and torn into shape,
The man of it all holding himself into place left her before he even let go of his soul within her.. We have become lost in the indigo,
without the hand of man directing us where to go..




[edit on 28-5-2009 by Adrifter]

reply to post by Adrifter


And alas their minds were too full,
full of the rush of their lives.
Little did they know,
that it wasnt theres at all.

Just now and then in a dream,
it would flit silently by.
Bigger than anything,
but yet still they did not see.

Then laid at the door of death,
so vividly now could see.
their life was owned,
by not them but the man of fear.
- - - -
For those who could not be bothered to aknowledge your doing.

Its not really my area of reading or writing of,but I have the greatest of respect for those who do.

Starred and flagged.

The words I have read here in this thread

remind me that things take sometimes revisits to know.

Like your spirit.

Will come back to become familiar and see if it further grows on my poor soul.

Lost,
Yet I feel much better,
we smile gleefully staring at the sea,
thinking oh, how the air we breath will never be torn from our hearts,
Yet with the consumption of the lies,
we continued to feed the disease called the disguise,
it runs in our veins,
preventing us from learning our true names,
deceived we are around the world dancing in the weeds,
not the flowers left behind from our Eve..


Blanketed with our sight,
we believe what it is that is being seen,
yet bellow the tranquil turquoise depth,
lie mandibles that have fallen off of our faces,
only to be replaced with words that are now fake pronounced from a sound we were not born to make..







[edit on 3-6-2009 by Adrifter]

I'm in the way again,
I hear the voices,
singing in the halls,
their voices... Their bouncing off the walls...
The music its looking at me,
reflecting from the waters edge where I am on my knee's.... Seeing my facial expression,
changing the tones and vibrations flowing thru my veins.. On accord, I see a distance mind,
someone else's thoughts he does not want to keep, chaos creates the chords, and they all once again begin to sing.

She was there,
once again it was not fair,
I tour out her heart, like wripping thru a coccoon, I left her broken staring at the stars,
not quite knowing how to say stay,
she watched me walk away. I hate remembering how I felt, as if I was ice slowly melting rolling down a shift on a placid smooth roll rolling down to a spring to flow into the heart of the forest again, to give norishment to the tree's so the birds could sing and play in the branches green and full of leaves.

She can't wake up, staring at the screen,
watching the star walk thru fields of green upon beasts who are in a better posture to be in the pasture, grazing by their sides she see's my face dancing in one place. Tears roll down her cheeks, as she looks at the strange ole face she keeps thinking about those days, I lay to waste in a cocoon in her chest where I kept her face in the one shape that brought her so much grace. I remember the side of her fist across my chin, the scars still bleed from time to time remembering why I now feel so divine. Her pain absorbs her like all the religions conforming to the belief their is an end.

Now I watch the sun rise,
on a beach that is not mine,
how I got here, I don't even know,
my strength holds up my face,
to see the rise in the sky,
a Sun brightens up the sky,
a day today a voice next to me has to say,
thank God, we are not alone,
everytime I feel I must look down,
I always remember... We are never alone..

Within a womb,
further bellow where we think our fate,
has its own desire,
we find our mouth's dry, wondering why.

In the brisk crisp morning light,
I look up high joining everyone, in a peril, yet down bellow, where did the ground go? falling faster deeper then the unknown, a child with no eyes flies a kite, upside down hanging from a branch, groping lower, yet growing ever so slower, their is a part in the cusp, where the river flows, beneath the dreams of sudden echoes of new born old men, suckling their mothers again. I find a demise in time, where all the world tries to sleep beneath the sheets..

I can't remember the world Hello,
everywhere I go,
all I hear is the world's floating to my ears,
a goodbye, Laced with tear stained I can taste the rain,
it falls, creating a life to begin,
a new history, in your eulogy,
fate cannot wait to burn our veins these last days,
I can see the burning plains,
falling into the golden age, ah but yet it is only golden from the reflection of the broken burning hearts we are tearing apart.

Further from this day I have to say, their must be a way to say, our lives are getting torn apart. I can see it in the eyes of evermore, every face in every place, I see a pupil surrounded by a slouching stance of iris, where the shine reminds us to close our eyes, and wonder what this is all about..

Decadence calls,
in a bellowing howl,
we all stand at attention, part of a moment in unison, we feel, we have to sing, yet, something is stinging our hearts, numbing our minds, killing our gardens where we play with our gods.

She was presented a ring,
it was dark in color, and bright in contrast,
it created a hue more vibrant then me or you. It made her remember the day she was made, a joy given to a girl from a boy. She saw her dreams, threw a window without a screen.

I can't remember yet he said,
with a stern voice that made me want to yurn for the truth, He held in his hands a wisdom, that rose with the arrows soaring threw the air aiming for the hearts of our dreams...
eyes
Searching for a Knight in the Night,
I find the reflection of me,
as I stare down into a stream with a rip current, that keeps trying to steal my dreams,
misery is calling for me at the top if her voice, Yet her peircing voice attracts the cold edge of my sword, plunging deep into a voice that tries to keep me from sleep...

I stare into the tear,
And realize I put it there..

I can taste the rain,
it falls, creating a life to begin,
a new history, in your eulogy,
fate cannot wait to burn our veins these last days,
I can see the burning plains,
falling into the golden age, ah but yet it is only golden from the reflection of the broken burning hearts we are tearing apart.

Further from this day I have to say, their must be a way to say, our lives are getting torn apart. I can see it in the eyes of evermore, every face in every place, I see a pupil surrounded by a slouching stance of iris, where the shine reminds us to close our eyes, and wonder what this is all about..

If all is ever lost,
I shall be the first to go out and find it.
If all is found,
I shall be the first to put it back together..

In your eyes, it is I, that stops and stares,
If I could see clearly,
I would find, all that is lost..
yet your eyes hold the mystical colors, and reflections of hues,
like looking thru a prism everything changes its ways,
and colors bend, like the words I need, when I say I love you...

Yet your touch, is softer then the freshest water,
melting from the purest blocks of ice on the highest glaciers in the coldest points in this life,
with each smile my heart melts another layer away....

I have never met nor touched or felt a love like yours,
you reperesent the purest form of Woman,
I almost beleive the roots of Eve came from you,
for no beauty walking this earth could dare compare to the view of you,
they have to walk in your shadow,
it takes each and every breath, to give me strength to raise my head and look into your puzzling eyes. If I could just decifer your moves, your views, and your love..

Instead it leads me to words written with a formidable grace,
that gave me in his final resting place,
a retrograding moment given away, to a man who deserved nothing,
yet it is only my words I conjure up from a deep and silent place,
where age has no place, yet it reflects an ancient shape,
I can purify my lines with all the power of love in my heart.. With just this twist of the wrist...

All alone, shadows cower before the light, of the Night,
The darkness is my cloak, my sword is my purity,
my sight is my reality.
Furthermore I roam, upon a steed that brings me to a Battle field, where the Night,
begs for the calico's, yet all that it is given is despair, the sounds of clashing steal and screams sharpen the cold northern wind, all hail and fall to their knee's turning to dust to fill my nostrils, forever I see this, it all turns to just shapes morphing thru and thru until something abnormal occurs... you stand pure in the center of a field of battle, annointed with the blood of Centurians Born from the Lost centuries, of years ago. You are my fate in a Place where I cannot focus on your face... All the spirits rise and fall, changing the face of this place I can see the Plateau a derived rise in time, where it bottums out with the lust of a gust of wind where forever game up and dove into the Man's dream... At last you look at me changing my mysery and puzzling my intellect and persaverance, my stature shift my fluid swings of my sword turn to rigid scapings on the ground, my enemies see my weakness in my fate, trying to consume my tired body.. Yet my spirit still rises in me, taking your arm and leading you to this life, where the throne sits a man with time, who wears a crown of stars he sits and waits for our return, for he has not spoken a word since our departure eons before the first souls of life were comprised. We were out of our body and out of our minds, we were just in time.. he sits and waits with sweat rolling off his brow with fear... For we shall bring him the pains and sorrows of All the old Men left in Time, with the look in your eyes, we shall hear him tell us his lies, that lie so high in the tears that fall on the cheeks of the Father of all of Mankind... Yet perhaps I shall keep that beauty all to myself, I can hear them calling for us, yet I see the beauty in your silhouette.

A woman speaks, from the beaks of eagles soaring high,
beyond the reaches of man,
only if we were to crawl on our hands and knees with our ears to the ground could we hear,
the yurns from the epidemies of Man.

[edit on 4-6-2009 by Adrifter]

Diving in at the deep end,
I hold my breath,
drifting further down,
where there is no sounds.

I open my eyes to see,
the bubbles floating up to the tidal waves,
drifting down into lost spaces,
I cut my leg on a reef,
blood pours out tainting the space,
changing the life in this place,
a new color of red,
is bled,
changing the contrast,
from vast,
to the past,
all the memories,
soak in at last.

honey,
it's been a long time coming,
and i can't stop now
such a long time running,
and i can't stop now
do you hear my heart beating?
can you hear that sound?
'cause i can't help thinking
that i don't look down

and then i looked up at the sun
and i could see
oh, the way that gravity turns for you and me
and then i looked up at the sky
and saw the sun
and the way that gravity turns on everyone
on everyone

baby,
it's been a long time waiting,
such a long, long time
and i can't stop smiling,
oh i can't stop now
do you hear my heart beating?
do you hear that sound?
'cause i can't stop crying
and i won't look down

and then i looked up at the sun
and i could see
oh, the way that gravity turns on you and me
and then i looked up at the sun
and saw the sky
and the way that gravity pulls on you and i
on you and i


www.lyrics007.com...


[edit on 4-6-2009 by Adrifter]

Originally posted by Adrifter


honey,
it's been a long time coming,
and i can't stop now
such a long time running,
and i can't stop now
do you hear my heart beating?
can you hear that sound?
'cause i can't help thinking
that i don't look down

and then i looked up at the sun
and i could see
oh, the way that gravity turns for you and me
and then i looked up at the sky
and saw the sun
and the way that gravity turns on everyone
on everyone

baby,
it's been a long time waiting,
such a long, long time
and i can't stop smiling,
oh i can't stop now
do you hear my heart beating?
do you hear that sound?
'cause i can't stop crying
and i won't look down

and then i looked up at the sun
and i could see
oh, the way that gravity turns on you and me
and then i looked up at the sun
and saw the sky
and the way that gravity pulls on you and i
on you and i


www.lyrics007.com...


[edit on 4-6-2009 by Adrifter]

Great lyrics mate.
If only we could feel that pull always.