In the garden in the park on a bench I sit.. A newspaper floats on the breeze of this late summer.. It is coming my way. I patiently wait.. I see the sign it's on the road. and I think it's crazy. In the garden of the park on a bench I watch.. The sandy feet of the children.. Pearls of sweat run across their beautiful faces.. You see the sign it's on the road. but I think you're crazy. You are you are the sign. of my unrelief. As I easily get inner contact with myself. I notice distress grabbing for my throat.. It is time to reach out.. To find something that isn't there. You see the signs they're on the road. but I think it's crazy. You are you are the sign.