I remember the early morning mist in the city riding a bike over the streets of cobbles.
The sun burns away the haze, no cars, just people walking quietly to fulfil their monotonous days.
That was long ago, now things have altered, the cobbles have gone, cars are her, and people
hurry on.
The morning mist is soft and quiet like a painting that Hopper might do.
It takes me back to memories of autumn days and idle thoughts of you.
Music runs through my head like the soundtrack to my life, I retrace the lost footsteps of my
youth, listening for the sound of your voice.
The passed is like a long-dead stranger whispering in my ear, telling me thing I already know,
things I don't need to hear.................
