Voices tell me so

My time coming, any day, don't worry about me, no Been so long, I felt this way I'm in no hurry, no Rainbows and down that highway where ocean breezes blow My time coming, voices saying they tell me where to go Don't worry about me, nah, nah, nah Don't worry about me, no And I'm in no hurry, nah, nah, nah I know where to go California, preaching on the burning shore California, I'll be knocking on the golden door Like an angel, standing in a shaft of light Rising up to paradise, I know, I'm gonna shine My time coming, any day, don't worry about me, no It's gonna be just like they say, them voices tell me so Seems so long I felt this way and time sure passin' slow Still I know I lead the way, they tell me where I go Don't worry about me, nah, nah, nah Don't worry about me, no And I'm in no hurry, nah, nah, nah I know where to go California, a prophet on the burning shore California, I'll be knocking on the golden door Like an angel, standing in a shaft of light Rising up to paradise, I know I'm gonna shine You've all been asleep, you would not believe me Them voices tellin' me, you will soon receive me Standin' on the beach, the sea will part before me Fire wheel burning in the air You will follow me and we will ride to glory Way up, the middle of the air And I'll call down thunder and speak the same And my work fills the sky with flame And might and glory gonna be my name And men gonna light my way My time coming, any day, don't worry about me, no It's gonna be just like they say, them voices tell me so Seems so long I felt this way and time sure passin' slow My time coming, any day, don't worry about me, no Don't worry about me, nah, nah, nah Don't worry about me, no And I'm in no hurry, nah, nah, nah I know where to go Songwriters: Weir Robert Hall, Barlow John

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The Original Sin

the sin of the tongue the sin of the slippery saliva when no one has anything better to talk about..... the stashing of soaking wet memories it's not slander as much as it feels like slashed tires only when it comes to thee as a certified envelope served up like hot porridge on a saturday mourning scould the soul that is how it feels when the wind howls no more the quiet may heal your wounded brain but the heart in all of it's coNfounded madness will never forget the pain of a stolen innocence after all is it not the original sin

But I do not want comfort. I want God, I want poetry, I want the true risk, I want freedom, I want goodness. I want the sin. Sir Aldous Huxley