the men on the street...

...seemed to never have an open smile for me as i was passing by. the wind in my hair and wet cobble stones underneath my feet. tell me baby, do you carry the words around like a key on a chain afraid of letting them go, as they might get lost in a way the can´t be found again? i have been thinking lately, that we are all the things that we don´t like say. smiles never pass our cheeks as the birds steal bread from underneath the noses of the little kids down on the wet cobble stone streets.