that morning the north end of the adriatic sea, looked like a scene from a monster movie, after the crowd ran away. venice started out that way, a barbarian army at the edge of a swamp. nothing much has changed an awful mist hung over the grand canal, as we looked toward a modern art museum. maybe it excited her to support men who might some day be known as greats. you never know. a carpenter might become a fisherman; a slave might become a famous sculptor, a plowman, a poet. and we had faith that sunshine would come back.
through those ancient doorways ancestral feet wandered in through those doors, and out. masons built such solid walls, brick and mortar last so long. nothing is forever, it is said. two thousand years those bricks held strong; there's little left of the old town; the doorways now are falling down. through those ancient doorways ancestral feet wandered in through those doors, and out.
Something Old parking is uncommon, beside such a popular coffee shop cars almost outnumber coffee drinkers. it is a near thing. a beautiful old building shows amazing age. such character as well! paint helps.
we watch the weather roll over this hill; we see mists slide down towards us, sometimes bringing snow. we run a tab with nature, fools if we forget this. when we are least prepared, perhaps; it will come due. mists and clouds obscure the hilltop in autumn. snow, in winter reminds us we don't go up these hills so well. these are our autumn days. it isn't over; the view is fine, from here.
Capitol shades of gray don't make her day she wants her colours back, i'd say she paints her stories in bright pain (don't ask to hear them once again) we offer black and white and gray her stories want more she will say shades of gray don't make her day she wants her colours back, i'd say
Mornings Are Broken isn't he a cheap imitation of something really good? we don't want the answer; perhaps we really should time is like a river. we're caught up in the stream; we float on forever just living in our dreams red walls all around us, surrounding all our views beige walls in all sizes, never in the news
Wires layers of history challenge our senses power poles hold up transmission cables outside dusty parlours, outside those cozy homes metaphors wherever i look