The best of starts, the broken heart, the stone.
The punch drunk and the blow, the worst in the beginning, the compassionate part of the phone.
It was an era of gold I know, but all will pass, and will end too soon. You know.
Many friends I hope, and maybe one of them could make the rose, someone held the rope.
This is the end and this is the beginning.
This is the whole and is a part.
This is the hidden part and is its heart.
This is the course, and its brevity.
This is the best part, and the inherent trial.
This is the question, doubt, not to be trusted.
This is the sight and sound.
This is the gift. And the trick in it.
hospital was cold. In Milan, it was windy that night.
I do not even have gone this time.
Maybe I'm not really able.
