Sometime the joy of a rhythm
To be a conscience of a pure soul,
Sometime a sense of happiness within its own source
flows with a sandy soil
On behalf of my belief
That the rhythms are still
And belief is in still
That the tranquil satire of fragile senses
Flows toward an earth
Coils as if the turbulance is over...
And a joy of hope is still
Completely still...
Still in its purest form..
And within a second of a time
Suddenly a noise cranks
Of a coin of belief
Which is now in a river..
To be a hope of a rhythm
Which is flowing as a source...