The motor car is always a thing of darkness, In the sun and lighted roads of day And in the luminous gas at night though
After cremation everyone returned To their respective destination. The neighborhood was desolate
A ferocious heat induced meditation And the world was blurred in a haze The streets were torrid cauldrons On which the pedestrians baked.
The motor car is always a thing of darkness, In the sun and lighted roads of day And in the luminous gas at night though
Not so easy to assure someone
After cremation everyone returned To their respective destination. The neighborhood was desolate
Old friendship like cold tea waits at your side
I was led to delusion,
A ferocious heat induced meditation And the world was blurred in a haze The streets were torrid cauldrons On which the pedestrians baked.
Autumn leaves are seasoned
When my ancestral home
Butterflies flit, turn and flutter
What's the point in counting years, While the intensities are wasted, In bickering, fame and money matters?
