in all the quietness
when miles are between us
one thought travels fro and to
and’s the image of you

when crying your shoulders
when cold the warmth of your hands
some say it’s fake same call it a sin

how could i in heaven commit a sin
by touching the sound of silence
by the peace, i, inside sense
by deeling too much perfection
by a driven intimidation
i build that image a quiet
as an imagingary village

where wind plays in my hair
i feel the root of life, so rare
one thought travels fro and to
and the image of you