Evening Of The Eighth

The dancing music in evening of the eight;
the twentieth street bar
as i stood there pondering, a mellifluous' tone struck my mind
a white figured, resembling like an 'angel' performing
a soul pure as wine.

since i rendered the day i saw you
every night I look up and write,
making me a fool to the world-
they are now tired of it and I can't help

the sand is sinking, I have nowhere to search for
if' time machine existed it would be a different story: reality keeps on slapping and I can't think of anything but to look.
maybe we meet again from where we started
but this time in a new scenario.