All I see turns to brown, as the sun burns the ground And my eyes fill with sand, as I scan this wasted land Tryin to find, tryin to find where Ive been. Oh, pilot of the storm that leaves no trace, like thoughts inside a dream. Heed the path that led me to that place, yellow desert stream. My Shangri-La beneath the summer moon, I will return again, sure as the dust floats high in June, when movin through Kashmir.
Posted on: Thu, 28 Nov 2013 15:30:53 +0000
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