After singing the city song
Of car horns and conversation
I know the place where I belong
To enjoy a quiet vacation
These are tiny, beautiful things
The quietness once forgot
Broken only by the bird that sings
Of my invasion of its spot
And like a child that’s sent to bed
Before the party has even started
Remembering all I did and said
As life happens once I’ve departed
I leave so that I may return
To the shiny, furious noise
Money can’t buy the time to burn
These fleeting, fragile joys
Inspired/paraphrased from the first part of this post at Spinning Visions
1994ever 