Articles from August 1993

Tumbleweed

Lying here, Alone in my bed, It’s like a vast desert, With sand a burnt red. This feeling of emptiness, Of sleeping alone, It’s just like a tumbleweed, By the desert winds blown. To look at it moving, It seems but so free, But there’s a side of the tumbleweed,

By continuing to use the site, you agree to the use of cookies. more information

The cookie settings on this website are set to "allow cookies" to give you the best browsing experience possible. If you continue to use this website without changing your cookie settings or you click "Accept" below then you are consenting to this.

Close