Take me away
to where the sands...
Chaos generated order in numbers;
broken dreams through computerized 'no...
I was born and raised
in the warm heart of Africa...
Hypnotized by street lights, I breathe springtime
eyes fixed upon dirty streets, laced with fallen...
His face-
greasy and worn...
He looks down from his glass tower
And surveys his world below...
A petal danced upon the wind,
Timely floating from our sin...
I see people walking
down the street...
It was hell from heaven:
She touched that skin with so much care...
the weather feels,
moody...
I hear a story of a little girl, starving and in...
I hear a story of a race where there is no...
It seems to me
That the best presents are not under the Christmas...