Dirty Hands

Dirty hand

Never quite know

That in the depths washed

You can not quite get all of the

Dirt

If dirt is on the hands of man

Whose hands toil in the dirt

No notice is paid

But on the hands of a banker

On the hands of a tycoon

We wonder

Where does this dirt come from

The dirty hands

That can’t be washed clean

The Old Neighborhood

I know it will all change

Places

Hands

Roomates

Tiny specks will remain

Of the neighborhood I knew

For just a moment

I was late to the party

Closed it down

What seems meaningless

Will be much more important to me

Miles down

The road

So this one goes out to the neighborhood

It was short

But it was good

 

Oh to Fly

Oh to fly

Away from the noise

Higher than the clouds

Get away

When the world

Is pulling me down

Oh to fly like a bird

In a fresh moment

Go with the wind

Go sing songs

Songs of love

Songs of hope

Birds will fly

I wish I could go

Peace and Trouble

A year was lived

Not too great

Yet pretty bad

Not the worst

But oddly strange

No signs of the world ebbing to

A soft landing

Rather someone trying to gain

The upper hand

We all suffer

All of us

All of us