Analog Park - The Gathering

In the garden, in the park, on a bench, I sit

A newspaper floats on the breeze of this late summer

It is coming my way

I patiently wait

I see the sign, it’s on the road

And I think it’s crazy

In the garden, of the park, on a bench, I watch

The sandy feet of the children

Pearls of sweat run across their beautiful faces

You see the sign, it’s on the road

But I think you’re crazy

You are, you are the sign

Of my unrelief

As I easily get inner contact with myself

I notice distress grabbing for my throat

It is time to reach out

To find something that isn’t there

You see the signs, they’re on the road

But I think it’s crazy

You are, you are the sign

Of my unrelief