Skipping is a step forward to the future Its neither the end of a task or life first step forward to builds its better breather Walk pass and around Perhaps underneath her silky way, dip around the clover leaf, fish out and over above the pond Fish out all the possibilities Deemed street lights and a world that’s blindfold too log squatters, who settle on land without the right or title. Walking on the pavement next to the mail box Just the side of the ocean and a wooden bench that I can balance myself Rocking the tables, wrecking to dissemble Show me that life can be worth living with more and more better enemies Snow on what’s should be rainfall, with screens of mirrors of motion pictures Were united at the tables, we’re wrecking to dissemble Were are now dancing to the groove baby, like we have never dance before. Break the hour glass and let the sand flow Shaking to the grove baby to the dance, on top of the wooden table as I slide to tap dance while on the sand snapping my fingers Manhattan project is not the same Even if we kick it along the freeways Without a walk on Broadway of Santa Monica Without walking east towards north of Norwalk Reach out to the skies to stretch my admirations with a smile across the fast tides as far high my hands can reach To the bellies of the blue jays And scratch the surface off the skyway just before the weekday There’s no charge When your in the same boat There’s not fault Just memories drifted on a surfboat When the shores are drawn into sources I’ll be the bullet train Trained not to laugh at you When your in the same up float No one is a stranger When you have each other, just each other with ourselves. Good times role just the blink before we hit the tide On my way Towards the look into her eyes, I’ll be not coming back First step forward Will be my last to engage with cautiousness Oh my ties Are severed, scissors that not to hold me in debt Cause I’m free Free to Own My Home my foot is on the floor for whatever cost, and pain free journey We are getting closer To an destination Where the back of my hand is all I know.
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