What is that that calms me down?
It’s my own two feet, you see.
Why should I not make a sound?
You’re not good enough for me.
My schedules and my plannings
are the way I run my head.
But the world around me turns, somehow,
while I put butter on my bread.
The rhymes begin to calm me;
the clouds begin to part.
There’s still this awful yearning
that’s tugging from my heart.
But still I walk on down the road
not knowing where it leads
Without a sense of final prize,
just peace amongst the breeze.
And if I dream while I’m awake
Then hold me in the door.
I’ll tell myself the truth, you see,
For I am no false hope.
The honesty that longing brings
is quite enough to cope.
Someday will happen.
Someday will come.
Just like the day of morrow–
The trees truly are beautiful
and breathe away my sorrow.
So in conclusion, walking
is instant therapy.
Money isn’t heaven
and heaven is a tree.