every day, everywhere I walk
the things we say
things we do
nothing apparently good or bad
just about our own kind of utopia
ideas swirling in these written papers
ancient scrolls recorded with memories
painted with grace and beauty
like those flowers in a vase or the “Starry Night”
dictionaries in our back pockets
pencils or pens behind our ears
written papers halfway
cuz it's only the true idea that counts
fading times
on this old rock
deeper than Grand Canyon itself
as words written down becomes as grand as amazing as itself
like dancing in the great hall
bathing in the moonlight as it gleams off
pens fighting like swords
as there is no win-win situation
these words itself
have no meaning by itself
but together we write
like composers ourselves
together we paint a new world right here
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