The Leaves That Are Green Turn To

I Suppose An Artist Takes The Elements Of His Life And Rearranges Them And Then Has Them Perceived By Others As Though They Were The Elements Of Their Lives.

The Leaves That Are Green Turn To Brown. And They Wither With The Wind. And They Crumble In Your Hand.

Was A Sunny Day, Not A Cloud In The Sky. Not A Negative Word Was Heard.

Maybe I Think Too Much For My Own Good.

I've Got Nothing To Do Today But Smile.