Experimental, impressionistic sub-paragraph tumblin' (think obstsalat)



No matter where I go baby, no matter what I do
I spend my whole life honey, just thinking of you
Yeah it don’t seem to matter, who’s right and who’s wrong
I want to tell you how I feel now, in the words of this song
— Rolling Stones, Keys To Your Love


In another land where the breeze and the
Trees and flowers were blue
I stood and held your hand.
And the grass grew high and the feathers floated by
I stood and held your hand.
— Rolling Stones, In Another Land