Wings
We returned to the woods from a three-day journey through the dizzy land of the casino. Today's a Saturday morning resurrection.
Somewhere in my family DNA, a Christian sings the Sermon on the Mount, the only words in the Book that matter.
Across the web, Mozart thrills anyone who needs, who dares to listen. In every note, he sacrificed his life, as if he had no cares about legacy.
Little Billie watches me with pensive, smiling eyes. I have her photo on my wall to help me keep my head out of the sand.
Admit it, Tommy, your dreams when you fly without wings come true when you love. Nothing else in this world brings you such exhilaration.