Buzzing of bees
The wind on the trees
I hear the flute
I follow the route.

My faith is blind like a soldier's
I spend alone all my nights.
Sometimes I feel I'm a Queen dowager
when I abandon all my fights.

Stick creak toothpick
sense diverse of a curse
Roam roll crawl alone
beast feast heading for the East.

The Rythm draws me near you
I sense your sweat, observe your chest.
Now I am certain I fear you
unless you put me to the test.

There is still hope.

Tony, August'95

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