Crystals falling
Hues forming
As light reflects on broken windows
Derelict houses
Empty
Lost for words
Naked
The fool may fall to his feet
Face in dirt
Or he may rise higher
Knowing
The air is freasher
And there really is a crock of gold
For the taking
All he needs to do is look within
Once he finds his truth
Breathing will once more
Be something that comes naturally