In the London fog she walks like light Light as soft as the lofty stars Dreams are haunted Liverpool ships Herdwick sheep bleating by Lake Windermere She sounds the bells of destiny Oscar Wilde with a black cane Morose of Byron Her arms are blue opium alleys Her kiss the ice of a pirates treasure
I move toward her Chills of nights silk We will never grow old Back to our graves we must go Our bed is the ancient mariner Under the North Sea lovers laugh Wales moans like Dylan Thomas We have raged against the night The fog of London is my delight
I am a documentary film maker and I write the majority of the music for my films. I have my own band and recording and audio-video studio in my home. Much of my music is used in my films. Three of my films are in stores as Dvd's. I also am a poetI am here to meet artists, poets and other musicians as well as other Christians.
Fernando, I do sincerely extol thee. You were as much passionate in symphony as you were in death, which you faced willfully. Cursed were the cruel war machines that silenced thee. But still to celestial heights they lifted thee. For
‘Don’t create fog’, covering truth, people say, afraid of fog, For me, the invisible beauty, nothing to cover, but be here, With me, at least in the morning and evening, as my love, To cover ourselves, as we walk, embracing
Every 20 seconds, its lonely voice cries Out to someone it will never meet like an ancient voice, never ceasing Through the cold rain and silent darkness Standing, waiting, as patient as time How many a forlorn sailor heard its
Here come the lights, what’s that I see? New blocks rising, no sympathizing, progress must be made, Here come the machines to take over from the spades, churning up the history, now to remain a mystery, that doesn’t matter, we