Here, in this place,

Dream pasts and realities collide with the grey present

And stare in wonder at the possibility of seismic future.


Walls black with yesterday's visions

Rooms rich with special, personal scents.


Circles forming,

Cycles repeating,


In an endless confusion,


Time through time,

Past through present

To past again.


In one way I have found a center.

In all ways I have found a riddle.

Why I am and what this place is, I don't really know.


And I'm still waiting.


G.S., 6/ /80


Kenny Ryman: looped piano

GS: vocal, guitar, paper



Return to Night Circus

Return to the main page