The Wasteland
By coyote
Minute thoughts recorded on the tablets of time,thinking love graces music in a world out of rhyme.In a system perfected to envelope all wrongwhen cast in the wasteland of beauty and song.I wander and wonder of happening love,and where I can grasp the brass ring and pull myself up above,for love must be grasped by these arms of mineor I drift back to the wasteland and follow the blind.Tan Son Nhut 18 Dec 1970 Written August 24th, 2001 © on Aug 24 2001 12:51 PM PST 0 • 12
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"Minute thoughts recorded on the tablets of time,thinking love graces music in a world out of rhyme.In a system perfected to envelope all wrongwhen cast in the wasteland of beauty and song.I wander and wonder of happening love,and where I can grasp the brass ring and pull myself up above,for love must be grasped by these arms of mineor I drift back to the wasteland and follow the blind.Tan Son Nhut 18 Dec 1970..."