There's a quiet murmuration Of figments of my imagination Dreams and broken notions Feelings and emotions Swirling and rearranging Into ever-changing shapes in my mind
There are absent gods and howling dogs And the broken backs of the poor While jugglers perform tricks with wealth As nobody seems to care anymore Amidst marching boots as children shoot And hope lies dead on the floor
There seems to be a ghost somewhere Wandering high in purple mountains And low in deep green valleys And this roaming soul may well be A kind of long lost truth Inside my hidden mind