Words are to be shared about love and despair. 
And about crime and the sign of the times. 
Whistle in the wind and here the echo of my past, 
and things I shouldn't of done. 
But then I thought I was having fun. 
To what end I can't say, but now I must pay. 
And on my knees I pray, night and day for the fun of yesterday. 
Can't you see that you are hurting with me, with the words of despair. 
I often ask my self if you care for me, as I do you. 
How soft is the rain I hope it hides the pain you are given me. 
Those little words of love and despair. 
They all need to be shared, but my love show me you care for me, 
and love me an hide your word's of despair. 
 

Inside
 

Loneliness what is it.  It is that feeling we all hide deep inside. 
But it creeps out now and then.  And then we all don't know what to do, but be blue. 
If you are true to your love then there is that chance that you may not be blue. 
But sometimes we need more than love from one to the other. 
Sometimes we are around a crowd and we still feel lonely inside. 
So be happy with what you have and don't dream of that what is out of your reach. 
And if you dream they may come true.  But if it don't, well don't be blue. 
Because it was only a dream. 
 

Fires

Fireball from the sky.  Look and listen where she lies. 
The fires and pain are in the wind. 
The question is can we begin again? 
Oh, how sorrow flows.  Should we call 911 or is it another day under the sun? 
I saw hell before my very eyes, and there was not time to cry. 
There are fires of joy and fires of pain, but in times like this there is nothing to gain. 
As the names were called out, there was no shame in my fires of pain. 
There is always something that we could of said, but did not. 
But I said it best when I had nothing to be said at all. 
 

The Open Road

Miles and miles of open road. I see it my way with the wind in your hair, 
and vehicle all shape and size every where. 
You sit and stare at all the colors every where. 
You have more fun under the sun, you know people use it to go to and from here and there. 
So relax and kick back, it may not be to luxuries and not to my stories, 
but just the open road they call the highway. 
Miles and miles of open road not just for you and me, as you can see, 
and it may not be to rosy, but can be pretty cosy to get loose kick 
to have the wind in your hair way out there, and to have everyone stare, 
to hang with the gang, just miles and miles of open road, 
that they call the highway and I'm see'n it my way.