Exchange of Sparkles.

In a bunch of blurred people, you exclusively shine.

The breeze is running fast, music irrevocably fine.

In this moment, when I stare at you through dark,

The sparkles on your face bring sparkles on mine!



Blowin’ in the wind!

How many times must the riots soar?

Before they can forever, fade.

How many times must I punctuate?

Before they can gleefully, bade.


The answer my friend, is blowin’ in the wind.

The answer is blowin’ in the wind!