Gathering a poem that spurt out with a gentle strumming of nylon strings, I find myself, leaning against the wall, meanwhile a friend, drowsy, falls more and more into the sublime ocean of sleep… not as gentle here, I sing the song of the world and fantasy…
I find myself leaning against the wall
I’ll be here until you open the secret door
that leads a long way under the ground
I want to live deep inside, all this life
I’ll make colors and many little things
I’ll put them together in queer gatherings
I’ll write all the time
I’ll write of the wind
oh what a fantasy
paper boats that float
with streams up above
I’m a reflection of you
sweet world, oh sweet world,
why would you not let me sing
the song that’s hiding deep under the ground?
you’ve been counting those tiles all this while
and the world goes round and round
and the world moves away
from the center of the universe
you’ve been counting the tiles all this while,
oh colors, oh colors, yellow and blue
you’ve been counting the tiles all this while
while the world goes round and round
around another fading star that moves away
from the center of the universe
meteor showers, shooting stars
drizzling like ethereal rain from up above
I know, there’s no heaven up there
it’s right here in the wounds that bleed
verses and verses of poetry
of misery and of hope…
oh hear me
well, you’ve been counting the tiles all this while
these stories have made their way
from mouth to mouth, and head to head,
ear to ear and lips, that whisper across centuries
and those places, those far far away lands
stories that have made their way to me,
I want to hear more of you, I want to write you down
I want to change a thing or two
and redo tragedies into happy endings
happy endings into happier ones
oh happiness, you sweet drug,
oh happiness you free bird
your wings spread across the span of blue
take off and take away and take me with you
fly fly fly…
Story Of The Footloose 
Might you record this as you sang it and post the recording?