If music be the food of love, words be the spice, play on;
Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting,
The appetite may sicken, yet not the desire and so die.
That strain again! it had a dying fall:
The dance on the floor the tunes falling over the ears,
The legs making moves the hands finding their thoughts,
The night sang to it so did it went so it did,
The silence of the long days, shouted on the night
Traveling across the longest itinerary to the one of our adobe..
Lost the way simply, as was lost with the company..
The distance never seemed so far so close was it,
Given the whole of the all was all their..
Oh, it came over my ear like the sweet sound
Essence of mere a physical presence but not the mental
I choosed to bring it up but was poped down..
Such pious were beliefs but not the words
that breathe upon a bank of violets, with the broken strings.
Stealing and giving odour! Were all set to vanish
Close but yet far running, flying, traveled to destination..
Exploring the abundance of familiarity, in and out, day and night
