You have miles to go while I have few and yet soon to sleep . On the round house of blue ceilings there are many rooms . I will live to the last of my words that will echoe quietly on dark waltzs whose notes linger falling deep . At every end there comes a rumbling thunderous quake . No nothing is wrong . Listen to mothers whispers . All will be well . White softness will carress on any a morning you awake . Solstace and frozen days arrive uninvited . There is earth and yet there is water . But where is a home ? Watching ones boundries fill to their coffers and yet next door there are bars creating boundries . Who cares . We are you and I am me . You and me are free as the round houses forrests beneath painted blue ceilings filled to the outter limits of dreams . Choose to carry on the load one way or anouther . Problems arrive anew like no other . Drink our mothers waters so sweet . Choose to tough the load long down the paven street .
