There are clouds of sound and noise That utter thoughts in a muffled voice, Gestures of hands simply won’t cast out Cloudy skies in days of doubt.
Like strangers lost in a crowd Whose cries are buried by the loud, The loud din of helpless wanderers Whose presence disrupts and disturbs.
All strangers left on their own, Islands floating out in the fog; Orphans with cruel fates to bemoan; Fates that are swept under the rug.
And who's looking with interest, who reaches down with an arm, Never so eager to help, neither too late nor too soon? Who would make this world perhaps a little more warm And freshen the skies of our cloudy afternoon?