Just like the rest, it grew to grow. And somewhere, on some doorstep, a few curious knocks filled an empty house.
I left a note, and I hope you found it my old friend.
Alone I headed through with all I ever had an all I knew. And as I walked along, the wind through the leaves in the tress built like a song. And I like to sing, so I sang along.
Banging on a kettle drum an army's gone a war was won, and we could talk for hours or even not at all.
Once I ached for something, something good and whole and true and all my own. Didn't I tell you, if I could find it, I'd leave a note?