An old unprepossessing feeling
somewhere from the depths a native atavistic urge
The rain washed streets disturb
bringing memories of the distant past and the unforgotten
A voice crying inside
"we are the stone cuttters"
"the builders and the destroyers "
"we destroy what we build"
"we destroy ourselves"
The atmosphere too sharing
the sounds of laughter of the primitive!
They all seem to be alive
Alive inside me
I am the stone cutter.
