Its Time…

Its time now, to make sence of things, things that have clouded my vision for years. Things that seem black and white, that have never been introduced to color. Things locked away and caged, burnt down, yet built up. Its time now, to make sence of things, things that have clouded my vision for years.

Listen

I Listen… Listen, to the drip, dripping of the tap and the low puring of an engine as its car crawies slowly by and the creaking and moaning of floorboards as the house around me begins to breath and the slow, monotanous, tapping of the rain escaping to the ground.

Gig

Dull frets strum As the audience come, The echoing base guitar A rhythem following from afar, Pale drum skins pound A new life is found.