Rolling Stone

And it's just Patience,

haunting our dreams in the Railway stations.

All allone,

on our way home.

It's whispering hard to perceive,

that god is no thief and you'll find a stone in front of your home.

It's the insurace rolling down your feelings with endurance.

Like the waves of the sea, rolling so wild and free.

Like you, in the eternal struggle to stay true and suddenly there is something worth to do.

They are the water, flowing through your hands,

all that by heavens glance.

But you think you are the sky, as you are mirroring the blue,

because it feels so perfectly attached to you.

You just wait for something to underlie.

As some might call the sea shy,

moving out of faithfullness for the moon.

They call it "Living on heavens fortune"

But look in the puddle that you pass, it's

mirroring yourself like glass, in the wet grass.

The streetlight tired and true,

is shining on the water, not able to see through.

And you are on your way home, as you suddenly notice, all the time you were rolling a stone.