William Garza
Veteran Member
- Time of past OR future Camino
- Camino Frances, The Jakobsweg
Here I sit
On the grey grey roof
The sky above?...where i reside is belief with out proof
If i decide to think too hard
And realise that flyings too hard
And I may fall...
So dont take me away from never..never land
Me and Wendy on permanent vacation
You can say
Staycation
Its become a real vocation
Ill...never...never land.
I cant decide
If ime to be horrified when gravity comes to call
Or petrified,terrified and mortified because the tailor called
And said my cloths been ready
So nekkid to the world
I have swung,swang and swirled
Pirouet and twirled 'mongst the squirrels
Someone said an epithet...
So me and Wendy
In time were spendy
And time has moved on
The hands upon the clock holding sand and measured tock
In futile movement unto six o'clock where sand has run through fingers
Six thirty is the saddest for its time
Both hands..sand run out of time
On many beaches rivers of time run out into the ocean
And the sands a reminder of the days worn away mountains of youth
Tides have washed the shores clean time and again
Where two steps walked perlious close to water
Wendys heart was fire...
She chose to land
But to mine ear she whispers
Through greying whiskers
Peter
Dont never
Never land.
Pilgrim.
Well you know....
On the grey grey roof
The sky above?...where i reside is belief with out proof
If i decide to think too hard
And realise that flyings too hard
And I may fall...
So dont take me away from never..never land
Me and Wendy on permanent vacation
You can say
Staycation
Its become a real vocation
Ill...never...never land.
I cant decide
If ime to be horrified when gravity comes to call
Or petrified,terrified and mortified because the tailor called
And said my cloths been ready
So nekkid to the world
I have swung,swang and swirled
Pirouet and twirled 'mongst the squirrels
Someone said an epithet...
So me and Wendy
In time were spendy
And time has moved on
The hands upon the clock holding sand and measured tock
In futile movement unto six o'clock where sand has run through fingers
Six thirty is the saddest for its time
Both hands..sand run out of time
On many beaches rivers of time run out into the ocean
And the sands a reminder of the days worn away mountains of youth
Tides have washed the shores clean time and again
Where two steps walked perlious close to water
Wendys heart was fire...
She chose to land
But to mine ear she whispers
Through greying whiskers
Peter
Dont never
Never land.
Pilgrim.
Well you know....
