He searched the world for truth, thought he the man child as winters are next to spring; the storm and his walk alone with a promise of a yellow sky. He wanted to live his gold mine, trying his fate in a perplexing planet.
Is it why man looked up to the moon?
He was on his knees in despair, being dragged by some mystic yonder. Do you want to hear my story the man child asked God; and the whistle sang that was all you wanted my dearest "your story" and that was your idea of truth that you searched, your story above everything else. You have your story now so why this despair and why this weariness; go sing your story and live,
I'm irrelevant and will always be to all your ideas and mentations so even I can only wish that you could be happy again.
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