City of Fallen Comrades

Take me back to the city –
of fallen comrades.
When the life was easy, and –
worries were less,
when the prophet didn’t lie;
and kites got stuck in –
TV antenna, on lonesome days.

They say you can leave –
anytime you want,
but, bet you can never –
map your way back.
Cause things on earth break,
faces change like season –
and dead trees grow back.

Now I have no place,
to go back to,
So I role like a stone –
that gathers no moss.
Like sailor-men falling –
in love with the sea,
and circling over like albatross.


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