The boulevard is bustling. A vast and wrinkled muscling

Is all over my eyes and I know I don't belong. There is a noise inside of me, that bustles asymmetrically. Oh, how have I to balance those sounds into a song?

It's time to let your hair down and give yourself permission...

It takes courage and control, but you start by letting go.

The city's an analogy for things building inside of me; this chaos and this discourse still we move along. The chaos hangs of symmetry and all her words of poetry, and that's the kind of city which I want to belong.

All I think, I feel, I see. All that this place is not me.

I want to be alone, but be wild and free. Oh, he who asks receives

It's time to let your hair down and give yourself permission. It takes courage and control
but you start by letting go...