Let me begin by telling you,
That it's a simple game,
The one you can't escape,
like rainbows and flowers,
all bloom forever!
Who is it that I am concerned about?
What kind of nature is this about?
A faith, a twist and an hour later,
We are still standing on the same ground.
For often I wonder in my half-time,
What do I bring to this table,
that ain't already there?
Who would have thought,
that a game like this,
could be played,
with serenity and bliss.
It's the old folklore,
that happiness is not in fortune,
neither is it in misfortune.
It ain't coming to you,
when you are thinking about it.
It ain't coming to you,
while you ache,
with thoughts forlorn,
and future grim.
It ain't coming to you,
when it's not the time.
It ain't coming to you,
When you are filled with despair.
Who would have thought,
it would touch me,
in places I thought were dead,
in spaces I thought were long gone.
It seeps into small hollows,
between your bones,
like a light feather,
beginning to mend
the thoughts, the deeds,
and everything you feed.
It's a shallow world,
but this runs deep,
inside the heart,
in each and every beat.
I wonder how long it will stay,
between these two worlds,
whether I will like it to stay.
I am in this whirl,
where my head spins without a twirl,
I welcome you with open arms,
With the wisdom of an old folklore.
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