Violins in London fog

Smell of suburban fruits hits the mixture of orange blended apple cider.

Violin notes flying through the air, crossing our eardrum.

Light of purple pink fly like the motion of the wind thrue the air. Our brown shaded black floor stays cold as stone can be. Dark walls melts in to the outside fog among the streets of London where Oliver Twist use to run from the police.

Kings ruled the hills once, queens visited the lands of destruction after Churchills war.

Silent is spreading its wings and giving peace to the man who touched the base string and made a melody sound like angels breath taken from Gods yard.

Clocks of Big Ben is aching in our system, we remember when twin tower fell, we remember when shakespeare wrote that story.

Souls so empty so black of desire, hands shaking cells shivering. We all know that one day we no more play among our friends, one day we all are lost. And yet found.

Strings of violin, strings of base and powerful drum whips sounding in our city, city of hope and desire. Still with no hope only fear of failing and destruction.

Night time has come, day time awates. Sun is gone to hell, wind is blown to a spell.

Dreams can only fit when there is people to dream them.

Violin notes flying through the air, crossing our eardrum and making cupid fly like a drunk dagger thrue the air.....