At the foot of the fountain where all life begins, underneath glass umbrellas while above the world spins or in ships out at sea on a cold Northern trade where deals, if not sunk are made.
We played those games at times in the past, but the fountain dried up and the umbrellas got smashed and the ships were all grounded on some sandbank, they say, games that we played then, back when the day had begun.
They run on a loop that goes around in my head, not really gone and certainly not dead, but in another place on a different plane, in a different space, it always interests me that we can still all see the past as a living thing, some bring to mind kinder deeds and it feeds the collective super-consciousness.
as we get older we get younger and hunger for what's been and gone and we go on to the fountain where all life begins, underneath the glass umbrellas while above the world spins, sailing back through the memory we all knew before life wrapped around me and got trapped inside you.