I step into the broken street
Into the crows of smiles and brightened eyes
And feel so out of place and lost
And forced to travel to me thoughts

Riding high on winds and airs of thoughtful recompense
Something troubles even I in ceasing my steady gait
It comces to this:
I won't survive your earnest yelling, your compelling me to go

And the I see, in walking by my favorite life in silken streets,
That you don't really matter -yet to me could not more
And hope that, at the end, it will be clear
That my misery was not wasted

Behind your pretty face, I always saw your eyes
And my reddened face reflected under dried, salty tears
And your triumphant, glittering eyes and malicious smile
As though you wanted me to cry

Even I should, with the passage of the years, find solace
But while I know you -and I have known you well- I cannot

But for now, the brightened, bustling, brawling steps echoing on cobbled streets
Draws me back into this

I leave my thoughts with sailing winds 
And, later years, when look I into the hazy lies of past events
I hear their reverberations as a mocking song come through the eaves
And see that I, as well, mean so much to me, to me alone

And yet when pnsive, soaring thoughts are come back up as idle haunts
They mean, to even I, nothing of their past decree
With omissions and elisions they are lost on winds of time
Till I wonder what is the purpose and the point of all my mutterings

Then see:
It lies within these "bustling" streets 
With happy lights ablaze and bright
That shadows take our thoughts toward
The darkened corners of the night