lends me it's silence, and I slowly open my caves untill there blooms flowers. I put my ears in my tresses and they hear days of enouement like the shades of black, golden, white tresses resembling, the lost roads they once walked on, and remembering, How Robert Frost was standing on the signal telling everyone, to take the road less travelled. (Read Caption) The voice of the sky lends me it's silence, and I slowly open my caves untill there blooms flowers. I put my ears in my tresses and they hear days of enouement like the shades of black, golden, white, resembling, the lost roads they once walked on,
