Sitting in a chair, staring at the wall
Green paper, little yellow flowers.
If I could run through this field,
I'd feel so much better.
Why do they open their eyes & ears close their hearts & hold the key?
How do they expect to live.
To live by sight & hearsay is to not live at all.
A dead life is possible.
We see it all the time.
A heart of stone stands alone,