The world began with me, there was nothing before,
History what's that? Your past is a bore.
What's here is here, before it was simply not there,
Diplomacy I know is something I should find,
Because people don’t like it when I simply speak my mind.
I find it quite dishonest not to speak the truth,
The Euphoria of Cloud Nine without a sound,
In love, floating weightless above the ground.
Entwined, uplifted, spirally upwards swirled,
She stood there pouting, adopting a film star pose,
As her curvaceous virile body, pushed shape into her clothes.
She perched on her stiletto heels, threw back her blond hair,
The thoughts go continuously around in my head,
I listen too carefully, to distinguish what is said.
I follow each idea, around and around,
It's a bit rusty at the edge, falling apart at the seams,
Its times are past, its hopes, its dreams.
From inside our glass house, its easy to scorn the past,
If you look another person in the eyes and they look away,
Then your soul is free to look another day.
Don’t look a dog in his eyes, because you’ll never be free,
I hear your voice sometimes now,
It's in the wind when it blows right through.
I hear your voice daily now,
There's no mistaking that sound quite true.
In the time of the almighty Moors
Granada had open windows, open doors.
Together were the crescents, stars and crosses,
Is it possible with just words to conjure up a smell,
Do the words ‘burning flesh" remind you of Hell?
And the mere mention of the breath of a lady's perfume,