|
A pin drops on the map Telling me it is where you've traveled But it loses the trace of time It's a chronicle disorder
When the pins form a circle When the begining becomes the end so does the end become the begining Circling we start, forever
Where is the blue sky and the blue sea The white beach, with the white horse and your smile with your white shorts and the long, flowing hair in the wind where you walk toward the sunset away from me, to the river
|
|
|