Through the land

05 septiembre 2007

Through the land

I cannot find it. It's nowhere. It has dissapeared, vanished in the air.

Where is it? Where is my spirit? My will? Did I spent it all the last time so there's nothing left?

Excuses brother, excuses. Remember what you want! It is on your hand.

A year? Or more?

Yours is the choice. Don't blame on anyone else.

C'mon!

Always, no, sometimes I think it's me.

--Strawberry Fields Forever, The Beatles