In the gardenin the parkon a benchI sit.
A newspaper floats on the breeze of this late summer.
It is coming my way
I patiently wait.
I see the signit s on the road
and I think it s crazy
In the gardenof the parkon a benchI watch.
The sandy feet of the children.
Pearls of sweat run across their beautiful faces.
You see the signit s on the road
but I think you re crazy
You areyou are the sign
of my unrelief
As I easily get inner contact with myself
I notice distress grabbing for my throat.
It is time to reach out.
To find something that isn t there
You see the signsthey re on the road
but I think it s crazy
You areyou are the sign
of my unrelief
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