The Lost Bead

The Lost Bead

People from
your past

All fussed
up

With thier
own life

Neither the
old strings

Nor the
strike of
rythm

Some show
the bones

And the
marks of
blood

The others
fade in
their memory

You wander
for the
touch

Of your
meltin moment

The grind
of Life

And the
Big Wheel

Churnin away
the ground

Into mansions
and fast
cars

Somewhere lost
is the
line

Which makes
all the
beads shine

Caution: This might be all theory

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