The Piano keys, the earnest voice, the guitar strums On memories of first discoveries Of cold nights and warm heaters, Of fish n’ chips and empty tubes Quite buses and lonely streets. Of getting lost in the maze of beautiful houses With thick carpets, trimmed gardens and sexy cars, Of artists and singers Singing and painting in silent street corners, Of waiting to find myself. Of high towers and row houses, Cold glances and warm hands, Piercing eyes Running down my spine. Now. There is a desk for me, People with kind eyes, Who share their half meals. Their homes are small, devoid of carpets. The streets are noisy, With no place to walk But, there is no time to lose myself, there is no way to lose myself, And I always, always find I am with myself.
That, which has a beginning has an end. That, which is limitless and infinite is without a beginning and without an end.