storm – Page 2 – Scriptorium '77

This Whistling Sound

Digging traces in the snow
Under the surface below
Everything those people believe
Still not feeling like a thieve

Oh, magnitude of liberty
Cruel imagined safety
In our hearts:

I’m surfing on the edge of time / Holy waters making way
Leavin circles on the beach / Forming white absurdities.

Don’t Hesitate to Swim / Through that swamp of pain
When your lights just glimmer / And there’s nothing to gain.