The colds a confusion for what you don’t know. Back to the times when I was a child, when you and I were still alive. The winds are blowing and I can’t make it home. The sand storms are coming, and I’m afraid to be alone. Your memory’s a place I want to reside, put up a house and plan to move in. The ocean tide brings back your simplistic views. Teach them to love,without being afraid.Teach them to care,without being scared.Hide your face from the storm. Take cover under shelter made out of sticks. When the air is light enough it will lift us up,and put us back where we belong. People are happy living by the truth,and justice will come in time. No thought in this process, just write what I wish I said. And when were back you’ll relax, in your hand painted smile. When were back you’ll wish you’d have never gone.