The wheels, they write a constant note,
As they carry me far from home.
Past greener pastures, weathered stone,
‘Neath sea-blue skies, lost souls afloat.
And so to sea the streams lead me,
So far from what I once had known,
Stood on the deck, or mids’t the foam,
The stars map me to where I flee.
Upon the shore, it’s there inscribed
In every pool and wind-swept grain,
That I would walk sea-beds again,
to find that home I found described
In sleep, ‘Neath lids of stone and sea,
To wake beneath a written tree.

Music, my rampart and my only one.

Everyone thinks of changing the world, but no one thinks of changing himself.