There is a place where the wind steadily blows,
And yet it never wears down on you. Where the storms come in from
the East and the streets become empty, like a ghost town. Where
leaves and dust sway like warning bella sounding their alarm.
Where the great oak tree rustles in welcoming and metal grinds
against metal, giving out it's cry.
I'll be there someday. It is my own castle in the
sky.
