Band aid, please

Haiku . . . . God bless you!

The first time I read a poem written in the Haiku style . . . . I mumbled to myself "And then . . . " Nothing. Three scantly clothed lines. If that poem were a girl, you would have thought it was a stripper. Bare and unashamed. You know what I mean? I am stereotyping here, please play along. That poem was bare, unashamed of what it was, had an attitude and I would only throw a one dollar bill at it.

Then about three months later, the stripper moved into my brain. I had this simple little Haiku poem that wouldn't leave. I laughed at it, it stayed. I tried to forget it, it remembered. So, here it is. My first attempt at Haiku.

I call it . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . "Band aid, please"

Warm sand, scent of salt

Wet towel, snap!

Red welt rising

Yes, I know somethings are better left unsaid. 

I just couldn't resist.

Ciao for Now, Y'all

May you live a long, long life

What have you to say?

All this time, all your worries, both gone

You walk out the doors and into the light

Now you can claim your innocence, from that dark night

You have had your moment of fame

You are innocent, so they claim

But what of the seventeen year old?

He did not testify, shout or cry

For the true innocent one, lies buried

Unlike you, his story untold

He remains silent and still

Unlike you, he forever will

The sea and all the rain

No amount of water will cleanse thee

The blood of that night shall remain

Your hands will always haunt you, eternally

May you live a long, long life

Hands that heal and a heart of gold

Hands that heal and a heart of gold

(Doc Robin Townsend, the Country Vet)

There are childhood stories, I often recall
With eyes closed, I hear mother tell them all
The tales of the kind doctor, who came to call
No matter the weather, he arrived
Delivered safely by buggy or sleigh
In days gone by, “The olden days”
The way of the Country Doctor 
A good, God fearing man
With hands that heal and a caring heart


I know of one, who lives with us still
More of a friend than a visitor, who comes to call
One who heals our dearest of friends of all
The ones who bark, slither and crawl
No matter the size, Doc tends to them all
And of the young’s endless questions?
He listens quietly, then answers them all
Speaking gently, he paints a picture, for them to recall
Knowing all too well, tomorrow they will jump the fence
For you see, he holds a Doctorate in Common Sense


From father to son, the traits are passed
Tis the Lord’s way, ensuring he is not the last
The man with patience, an honest soul
With hands that heal and a heart of gold


His Father healed the human scars
His Fathers son the human heart
He holds high his morals, o’er silver and gold
He chooses to do right, by all, young and old
He treasures his contented heart
For within his heart, he holds
His memories, God’s promised riches untold

His way is never easy, a rough and rock sewn path
He has always lived his life for others, 
Even though, not one ever asked
Of what God would have of me
I know not of his divine plan 
Except, I am jealous of this man
For, he is a fine example for others to see
The man, the person I should strive to be
All my years, all my travels
I have never found, one, nobler than he


I shall remember fondly all the stories told
In summers sweat and winters killing cold
Of Llamas, mules and the price of hay
For friends you see, are simply that way
I shall deny all those tales told of us two
And Doc will say, “Well, could be true”


When he comes to call, heal or console
Ask of all the stories he has been told
Say a prayer for the country Doc
Softly request, that God save his soul
For you shall find fewer than he
A good, God fearing man

Hands that heal and a heart of gold

Thank you Robert Frost

"I took the one less traveled by /
And that has made all the difference"
Robert Frost

The road not taken, published in 1916 by Robert Frost is a favorite of mine. I was rereading the verse one night and drifted away. At 2:27 AM I awoke with this poem in my head. I wrote it down and left it lay for months. I always try to take a different way home, from my Rose's house. And, yes that has made all the difference. 

Thank you Robert Frost.

The way home is always the same

The houses and farms pass in blurried colors without shape nor meaning

Matters not if the sun is awake, storming or clearing

The way home is always the same, once again

I side step each adventure with every foreign street I ignore

What I have missed, I can’t be sure

Something is beyond that turn, waiting for someone

I should take the time to see what is there

Who would know, whom would ever care

I know, I do care for something is waiting there

My something will have to wait, for my someone can not

Maybe tomorrow, I will grasp that turn and charge down that foreign street

Just to see what I have missed all these years

Where do all those streets go?

Where did all those years go?

These years, never caring, never knowing

The way home is always the same

For all of us who never stray, never take that chance

Never change

Never tumble the dice

The way home is always the same 

I love to Dance . . . . .

I love to Dance

At the edge of the forest, I hear a call

A beckoning, a call to only me

I enter reluctantly, cautiously

 Drawn into this sea of trees

Wandering deeper in this land of gloom

The trees grow so close, there is barely room for me

Standing silent, as sentinels guarding a tomb

The canopy, so complete, a soul can barely see

I trod deeper, but there, there ahead of me

A clearing of trees, an opening of the canopy

Where sun drenched grasses run free

Deep in this sea of trees

Among the grasses, an island of soil rises

Adorned with a simple cross of stone

A grave in the clearing in front of me

 I kneel in respect and look up to see

Who has been laid here?

Upon this island in a sea of trees

Etched with care and grace

The name of a familiar face

An old friend of mine, lies here

A companion from my youthful years

Alas, now he is silent and his cry I will no longer hear

For it is caution who has been laid to rest, here

Good, now I have a place to dance!

I never liked that old fool anyway

He never strayed nor ever took a chance

If he had not perished, my old restrained and foolish friend

I would have thrown him, body and soul, to the wind

I could never imagine nor ever believe

 I would have found him, resting on an island

An island, in a sea of trees

He never strayed nor ever took a chance

He never knew . . . . I love to dance

But, you knew that, didn't you?

“Somewhere over the rainbow . . . . . . . Why can’t I?”

Of all I know, there is little to boast of
Except of course,
My love of poetry and the poetry of love
Yet, the world beneath my feet, does treasures hold
Rainbows arched across our horizons bold
They are mystical, lovely and impossible to hold
They are but reflections of light, a prism to behold
For the young they are much more
Dreams to chase and stories to be told
Lest we forget, that wee pot of gold

My rainbow is complete, a circle grand
My horizon an encompassing oblique
My rainbow, she is bashful and shy
Keeps her smile below the horizon and above the sky
In my dreams I sail toward her
Wave after wave, day upon day
I never see her smile, nor do I
In sorrow, turn my sails 180 degrees
I shall sail around the world and view her anew
For to see her smile, required that I simply change my point of view

Thirty two miles east of Ocean City Maryland, surrounded by salt water in a veil of blue-green, I wondered why? Why can’t I see the end of the rainbow?

The ocean reveals her beauty once you abandon the distractions of the shoreline. As I watch the terra-firma drop below the horizon, it occurs to me. The line in the distance is actually a circle, the horizon has finally showed herself in a grand display of a 360 degree gilded sky blue frame. All my years, I thought the horizon was a finite line somewhere over the rainbow. I believed it to be small and nothing of interest to anyone. On the ocean though, you see her for all she is. An encompassing ring somewhere over the rainbow.

So why have I not known this fact all these years? Well, seems I just believed what everyone told me it was, a line in the distant, covered by the sky and limited to a frame of trees on both sides. An unreachable point that is in constant motion. But, that was before I opened my eyes and my mind to see her, all of her. At sea we are the center of the horizons embrace, always. She keeps us encircled, yet she never allows us to touch her.

Sometimes, I see people and ideas as what others have told me they were. I know better, now. Like the horizon upon the sea, one has to gaze with their eyes closed to see them for what they truly are.

By the way, a rainbow is a complete circle. The horizon keeps a portion of the beauty of each rainbow all to herself. But, you knew that, didn't you?

This darkness, born from Satan’s own shadow . . .

"I find myself in a state of uneasiness. There is a mist, a salty mist falling softly from the darkening clouds. I believe the sky is crying, but for whom does she cry? There is a shadow approaching from the west. I gaze in disbelief as a blanket of darkness unfurls upon the horizon of our world. Slowly but ever so surely, the darkness of sorrow is returning. As the moments pass slowly and ever so painfully, the darkness is enveloping our universe. Consuming our Eden, acre by acre. I shall have to face this darkness naked and alone.  Steadfast in my resolve to survive this fate, for this time the darkness is truly the one who will not be denied. As the leading edge of the shadow approaches, I can feel it calling to my soul. The darkness is beckoning me and I cannot refuse him, I must answer his call to my soul. I knew he would come, come for my world, my soul and yes, come for the soul of my Lovely Lady.

This time the Darkness will not be denied.

Oh what horrors lie in the memories of one’s own heart? When will these demons be satisfied with the sadness they have inflicted in the dark days before now? Why must he return again and again to menace my heart so unmercifully? Some memories will never be still, for they are never satisfied with their past haunting deeds and they possess the unyielding desire to torture one’s moral soul for an eternity. Leaving the days lived in the present a simple mirrored reflection of all those harrowing moments of days past. This darkness, born from Satan’s own shadow, is upon me and I am frozen in its approach, unable to flee. As this shadowy shroud covers my body, I brace myself for I know deep within my heart that it will pass, in time. The sun shall reclaim our world. But, the shadow will leave its unholy mark upon my very soul, this I know to be true. Just as the sun shall leave its warmth upon my heart. This darkness shall leave an eternal shadowy chill upon my moral soul, forever, Amen."

Sometimes, I can't find a reason to smile.

But, the darkness never lasts.

Like a dark little cloud that has strayed into my azure skies, I simply wait for it to pass on by. 

Then I get back to being the happy fool I was born to be.

Excerpt from That Darn Dragon

Yikes! I am in deep trouble, for sure.

Oh those Pale Azure eyes!

Every time I look into those pale azure eyes . . . . . I just melt! I am putty in her hands and yes, she knows it all too well. Then there is that chemical reaction thing. The semi-lethal dose of dopamine and  oxytocin produced by her mere presence. The effect is amplified by the alluring nature of her pale azure eyes. Yikes!

Yikes! I am in deep trouble, for sure.

Do you feel that way when you look into the eyes of the one who loves you for the most simplest of reasons in the world, they love you for you just being you? Do you feel the need to self admit yourself into a drug rehab program every time you look into their eyes? 

And just what is this chemical thing? Well, Dr. Helen Fisher explains it quite well “No wonder lovers talk all night or walk till dawn, write extravagant poetry and self-revealing e-mails, cross continents or oceans to hug for just a weekend, change jobs or lifestyles, even die for one another. Drenched in chemicals that bestow focus, stamina and vigor, and driven by the motivating engine of the brain, lovers succumb to a Herculean courting urge. "

Yes when you feel that "Chemistry", you really feel it. Our brains take over our conscious thoughts and we become primitive beings, once again. We focus, no make that we obsess on the person we desire. Dopamine is to blame, but just what is dopamine? Dr. Fisher tells us that "Our reward system, like the one that activates when you're eating chocolate, plays a role during this phase of love. She supports the hypothesis that like chocolate, being head over heels in love is addictive. Of course, dopamine is what gets released when you take a hit of cocaine, too—so it's not surprising that other research suggests that for the brain a bad breakup is like kicking a drug habit" 

I knew there was something about chocolate and its relationship to that loving feeling!

What about oxytocin? Dr. Fisher tells us all about it . . . . Oxytocin, when released in your brain during certain types of human contact, it has the effect of bonding you to the other person involved. This makes a lot of sense, because oxytocin is known to be released when a woman is nursing her infant, when two people are hugging, and during sexual activity. It's also thought to be involved in other corollary emotional responses of bonding, like trust-building and empathy.

So, Love is a double hit! One drug to force you to focus on the person and another to reward you for hugging them! Whoa! You get your chocolate and a reward for just being in love?


But, those eyes . . . . Well, there has to be a physical attraction first, kind of like an invitation to party. So . . . . . Pass the chocolate and let's party!

What the mind's eye can envision

What the mind's eye can envision, no photo could ever capture.

Angels, innocence and the hues found only in emotions of wonderment. These are the elements of imagination found in the mind of every dreamer who awoke to the flame driven desire to create what has never been seen. These dreamers grant us a glimpse into their minds and allow us to share what could be, what is and what should never be.

I often think of the days when I bought my first computer. By today's standards it would be laughed at and thought to be a bad joke, a toy or just plain silly. At the time it was cutting edge, in it's time. Today I smile every time I hear someone talk about how fast computers are today. Ipads, Iphones and the like are truly amazing, here in their time. The home computer is still much like the ones in the early eighties. A microprocessor, memory and a operating code consisting of ones and zeros.

Funny, how we all think today's technology is so great.

The human mind functions through the transfer of light at intervals and intensity, through billions of synapses or gateways. The technology of the mind is millions of years old. Our brains haven't changed much at all from when we lived in caves and had no language. Yet, we have evolved from the way we process the input from our senses and how we react to that information. Your brain is the supercomputer of today. What of tomorrow, my friend? Will we still be using zeros and ones to process our data in our laptops?

I will make a bet with you. One day in the not so distant future, computer science will mimic the human mind. The speeds we will process data at don't even have a name, yet. The way we look problems don't even have a point of view, yet. The way we think about our senses haven't even been imagined. yet. Yes, we will look back at today's wonders and simple laugh. We will wonder how we ever got through the day without the wonders of tomorrow. Close your eyes and look to tomorrow, what you see in your mind's eye shall come to be.

And that cool gadget called "Google glass", the computer built into sunglasses . . . . . a toy that a three year old will learn their chosen second or third language with, in it's time.

What we see today is only a glimpse of what we will live tomorrow. What you see in your mind is the key to your future. Where you go today is a just a side trip on the gateway to your future. What you think today is what you will live tomorrow. 

Like a painter, we should dream of what could be, what should be and what we will be.

Yes, I never liked that old fool

There is a murky mist of dark changes in my azure skies, something or someone is coming my way. Yes, change is creeping over the horizon, once again.

The Angel and the Butterfly

As I listened to a conversation between two forty something ladies in line at Wal-Mart, more like ease dropped. I smiled as the two spoke of change. There were all the old clichés, and many, many  “You got that right”. The reason for my grin is simple. Most folks, I included, dread changes. We all tend to anticipate the change based on what we know and believe today. The truth is that we are being very short sighted, yet again. When change comes a knocking upon the front door of our lives he always brings a friend. His friends name is time. Time always tags along with his buddy Mr. Change. As time passes our way, things, many things change in our world. We become wiser than before and we have screwed a thing or two up (That’s called experience). So, what we knew when we anticipated the change is old hat, for we are more experienced when change does finally arrive. 

The funny thing about us humans is that we tend to be quite neurotic about changes. We view them as something bad, unwelcome and of course difficult. We never see that when change arrives so does the passing of time. And in time . . . . We change our viewpoints, outlooks and others will notice our changes and step in to help. It almost never turns out to be as bad as we thought.

“As I ponder all this madness, something catches my eye. I look out my window and notice a freshly covered earthen mound at the woods edge. A grave. At the southern end of the mound is a wooden cross. I strain to read whose name has been etched upon the Christian marker. Just as I suspected. “Caution” has been laid to rest. Good, now I have place to dance. I never liked that old fool anyway. “ 

Yes, I never liked that old fool, one bit. I do like his older brother, change. Without change, we would have not a single butterfly in our beautiful azure skies. I, for one, love changes and skies adorned with the wonderous colors of butterflies.

Change your point of view and you change your world. 

Yes, my friend it is that simple.

Excerpt from Universe of Two, Book Three
Cupid and Psyche as Children painted by William-Adolphe Bouguereau

So, Good night my friend. Pleasant dreams.

The day is beginning anew, the darkness of the eve has been vanquished to the other side of the world.

Funny, I see the sun shinning through my window but, I know in her world it is evening once again. My friend lives on the other side of this planet. Maybe I live on the other side of her planet, I don't know. Sometimes distance is of no matter when you pause your little world to think of a friend, far far away.

My friend is a kin of mine, a poet. She gives of her heart and soul all that is there, the pain, the joys and those echoing questions of why we are here. I read her thoughts recorded in verse and prose, they reflect a memory of my younger days. She is like me, a soul lost in the world of souls who would take from you rather than give to you. She is stronger than they are. For she can see into the future. She dreams the most wonderous dreams. I see the dreams of a dreamer within her lines and recall the parralelled ideals I held in my younger days. I have to laugh, at times, because I know she is speaking the truth. The truth of her beliefs of how the world could be, should be in her mind. She brings tears to mine eyes, at times, as she recalls the emotions of being forgotten by a lover or worse, a friend. She doesn't know how much she means to my world. For you see she is a dreamer. What would our world be without dreamers? What would life be without the hope of a better tomorrow? Without the dream of what could be and what really should be.

Yes, my friend is the seed of a world I may never see. I can only dream of what her world will hold and what part she will take in it's construction. For we all matter and we all shape our tomorrows, one dream at a time.

So, Good night my friend. Pleasant dreams.

And do share your dreams with all the world. We can't change our existing world without the dreams of a dreamer. For you see, my friend, every change begins with a simple thought found in a simple dream.

Every change begins with a simple thought, a dream.

An act of Tenderness in a time of sorrow

Touch is the key

The human touch is a miracle in itself. The contact of bodily parts between humans is like lighting a fuse of emotions. Think for a moment of the most memorable touch in your life. Mine is the unexpected laying of a hand on my shoulder at a funeral for a dear friend. At that moment, I felt a emotional uprising within my soul and a release of pent up sorrow from my heart. I knew right then and there that I was not alone in my grief nor in my tears. I turned to my comforter and struggled with the words "Thank you". They spoke to me at the moment I needed them most, never saying a word. If you want someones undivided attention, simply touch them and wait for two heartbeats.

Touch is the key. Our senses excite, our minds drop all thoughts and focus upon the touch. Few everyday events rival the human touch. Even the word is used to describe more than sensory effect. You touch someone with kindness, touch their heart and yes, even touch them to very core of their being. Sometimes we are touched by what we see, not feel. An act of kindness, affection and the sight of a newborn child.

Our lives would be empty if not for our friends who touch our hearts. Reach out and touch someone, they will appreciate that.

As Jim Morrison would say . . . . "Come on, Come on and touch me Babe!" 

A Frog in the well . . . .

. . . He knows not of the great sea

The Japanese have a saying, 

"A frog in the well knows not of the great sea" . 

There are many frogs in the well, I see them in all aspects of my life.These folks know not of the great sea of knowledge but, they are content to evaluate events in their life, and in yours and mine, based solely on their past personal experiences and their personal beliefs. I know you have met many poor little frogs in your life. These frogs are happy to believe in what they know and see. Never imagining that the world holds a treasure chest of thoughts and ideas unknown in their world. If one could scale the well walls and venture to the great unknown sea, their world would become new and wonderful, once again. But, frogs never attempt to climb the walls. They are happy in their well and life is manageable and serene. Seems to me that their world is complete, compact and do-able. Why would they ever want to step into the sea, knowing not how deep the water is. The sea is in constant change, from calm cooling and soothing to violent and vengeful. Isn't knowledge the same? What we don't know is calm. When we discover a new idea, thought or a what if question, we can then apply that knowledge to all aspects of our personal lives. Like the raging ocean, we wash away the old once held truths and begin to see the world in a new and exciting light. For you see my friend, the well walls are only in our mind.

Here! Let me throw you a rope. I will hold this end and you pull yourself out of the well.

There, that wasn't so hard.

The view outside our little "living in the well world" is quite exquisite!

Don't you agree?

The Framed Lady

Exhibit "A"

The Lady was framed!

Yes, I did it and I have no regrets. I framed her before I ever met her. I stole her pictures from Match.com. I put them upon my desk ( see exhibit "A") and talked to her for hours before I met her, I didn't want to be a stranger, not on our first meeting. But that is not the story here.

I keep pictures of Rose everywhere. In my car, on the fridge, on the walls and over the fireplace. I do that so I am never alone. Nobody should be alone, ever. By having Rose in view, I am always with her. I talk to the pictures, all the time. Yes, I do. 

Studies have shown and science suggest that we are social beings. We need company for survival. Sometimes you just want to have a intelligent conversation and you scan the office, workplace, room or meeting and decide to talk to yourself, know what I mean? Morons all of them. Just when you need to discuss the latest contestant on the "Voice" and you find yourself adrift in a sea of losers. Huh? Where are all the intelligent people, you know the ones who think like we do? Like the same things we do. The normal people! Does this happen to you? Happens to me all the time. A lady from across the room looks at me and whispers those three little words ......."Your'e a Moron". Yes, all the time. I guess I am not one of the normal people after all. That's why I keep pictures of Rose everywhere. 

The world is a funny place, everyone looking for someone to talk to. Someone like them, somebody to relate to. Wouldn't it be grand if all the people we worked with were more like us? Hell, yeah! But the world is full of different people, like me. People who think not like you but as themselves. I love different people, they make me laugh, smile and sometimes I just shake my head and think . . . . "Moron"

That's why I framed the Lady, I need to remind myself that this world holds at least one person who thinks I am not a moron.

Don't you think you might want to frame somebody too? Couldn't hurt.

A simple thought on a dark night . . .

'I have traveled many miles on many different roads. 

This lost highway, that I find myself on tonight, is my old friend. 

We have shared far too many nights and miles together. 

Even though we are companions here, we never speak. 

We only think. 

Think of what has passed us by and what is around the bend. 

This lost highway has no beginning and never ends. 

You just end up here. 

Lost and alone.'

excerpt from Universe of Two, Book One, That Darn Dragon

The raven knows all too well . . . .

The Raven and his friend that we cannot see . . . .

The Raven knows, all too well

Of all the things that I have never seen

Like fairies, love and midday dreams

Secrets he keeps hidden under wind swept wings

He remains silent and keeps his thoughts to himself

Like a book of answers high upon a distant shelf

I call to him, beckoning him to reveal all to me

He has never answered, he has never replied

Yet, I can see the untold secrets in his dark shining eyes

The Raven has not always been near

It was late winter that first his shadow, then he did appear

The Raven has no shelter, nest or home

Like a statue, standing silent, vigilant and alone

He can always be found, poised upon my garden wall

Of all the garden guests, who come to call

It is that black Raven, I care for least of all

I watch him from my window, he knows I am there

He goes about his chores, glancing back, just to see

If I have noticed him, looking up at me

He turns his ebony tail to me and then

Looks over his shoulder and grins

I see him talking to no one there

I am sure he is fooling with me

Maybe he is speaking to someone

A friend of his that I cannot see

In my mind, I see myself setting a trap for him

To capture this joking and clever dark bird

And make him tell me, all those secrets I’ve never heard

Where do fairies go, when footsteps they hear?

And what of the Angels who float o'er my head

The ones I never see, the ones who watch over me

Yes, he shall reveal all his secrets, and then

I will set free my Raven, my feathered friend

Picture of Raven and child, artist unknown, friends_by_flina-d5n4jwv.jpg

“Wanting and waiting is surely the pastime of Fools, like me.”

Let me tell you about his Madness . . . . . . 

Not so long ago . . . I waited for the phone to ring.

Anticipating a reunion with the one I craved so.

I listened for the phone to beckon me
I cursed the silence, over and over again.

I assembled an impressive list of reasons and excuses for the silence, yet even though

The silence lingered and then my madness stepped in

More cursing, more waiting and yes, more silence.

If I craved this much silence, I would climb a mountain.

The ascent would be easier than all this waiting and wanting of my friend

As I stared at the silent phone, my mind, my madness offered to explain

Answering my questions and offering his temptation as a substitute

For all the reasons my phone remained mute

“She has forgotten you, or has she found someone new

She is much too busy and has too much to do

Later, much later she may find a moment for you”

I listen, I hear myself explain, all the reasons again and again

Madness, sheer madness in the first degree

Once again I have let my mind, my madness get the best of me

The gift of Flight, A poem for all the children who have been grounded by poverty

The world does have too many fences

Some are steel and adorned with razors

Others are simply known only to our senses

I hear words spoken about the others

Those who live with desperate pleads

Of all the gifts we have but don't really need

I say a prayer, each night

Hoping for a answer

To all their prayers, whispered ever so slight

To end their grief and grant them wings

Let them soar o'er fences, across mountains and seas

To a land of plentiful harvests with clear water streams

My prayer echoes through each night

That their God may grant to them

The gift of flight

Forever and ever, Amen

Let the rain pour down

Hank Williams Sr was speaking about a song he just wrote, he said sometimes he writes a sad song and then he writes a sadder song. But, at times he writes a pitiful one. Sometimes I too write a pitiful line or two.

Let the rain pour down

People turn to see

Then they all simply walk away

There’s nothing left of you and me

Nothing left to see

Nothing left to say

Let the waters pour down

Cleanse and baptize our souls

Let the rain wash this sin from our hands

Let us try to live once again

Both of usLost and searching 

Trying to find our way home

Distracted by our own insecurities

I forgot about you and you didn’t remember me

We focused upon ourselves and left the other in the rain

All we had, we have wasted it so

Let the waters pour down

Cleanse and baptize our souls

Let the rain wash this sin from our hands

Let us try to live once again

Who can say, who is to blame?

We both knew but, couldn't say

All we did was pretend

Let the rain pour down
Let it wash this sin from our hands
Let us try to live once again