1. Reflection
(Composed)
When even in my sleep
I find myself walking
In desolate streets
It seems I am searching for the perfect place
But is it only time that I waste
Every room has another and that one the same
I look at the mail box, none says my name
I put my mark upon it
And I try to make it fit
But the rocker on the front porch
Is not where I sit
There lots of antique pieces
Some copper and some brass
An unfamiliar reflection
Staring back from the looking glass