Sometimes I walk to the park
and watch the lake in company
of pigeons and ducks who's
minding there own business
surrounded by nothing but the
silent sound of pigeons talking
an old man walking by
I try to rest my mind
from all the thoughts
I don't want to have

The houses on the other side of the lake
are a labyrinth, a maze
of bricks and souls and songs
and lonely cries under a falling sky

The pigeons are comings closer
it's as if they haven't noticed me
as I'm invisible
a piece of air
camouflaged to fit the bench

I can't count the birds
They're as many as the people
on a busy London street
And i can not recall how it feels to be loved
its months since anyone was this close
as close as the pigeons