One and a two and a three and a four and a......
This feeling of spring like the wind and the bird that is flying,
The nights they grow cold as my mind does grow old,
And I'm looked at, inspected, hated, excepted...
The wise men they wrangle, their minds look for angles and meanings [meaning]..
But the ceiling is white as I guide through the night -
and I'm leaving, living, being, Hmmmmm - ha ha ha ha.
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