My head hums, the master calls. Looking west, my spirit cries. Standing long, I hear voices. There are two paths, and I know I can change the one I'm on. I hear the wind, and must follow. Shining light, I transmute gold. Shadows seek to overpower my spirit, but the recorder player calls me to understanding. A new day beckons, with laughing foliage, shaking hedges and mystical Oneness. I *know* all that glitters is gold. I have a gift for vague aphorisms. I smoke far too much Maryjane. Playing the intro ist verbotten. And I'm buy-uy-ing a stair-air-way to heav-ven.
John
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