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The Circle Around the Flame
come poor come wealthy
come child born new, come in the twilight bored of the day
listen to my blue friends speak whispered voices
sometimes we converse in an implanted language...sent from heaven
come lost, come found
these days are the circus...and we are all the clowns
we'll tour down the whiskey river
but only when it is midnight
for 100 days and 100 nights we've traveled
just me and my blue friends
in that time we've escaped the world, the ground,every country
we are bound to no nation
come circled,come square
in the dark it's impossible to stare
step
step
come all and come now
glee faced or face dour
the trees whisper pains as they call us insane
Copyright ©
Winter Wallace
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