Simple, and the Percussions

Oh, to walk alone
In the snow, black and white
And to think of in times of grayscaled pictures
Everything was so simple

In times where nothing went far
And everything stayed home
Where I could turn on my television
And know where to go

But again, to think alone
And to hear the voice of mind
As deep as the sky
And as wide as myself

Such a blessing it is
To walk and talk to myself
And to be given everything so
Is to be seldom joyless

I've received the one thing
To pour my passion on
And now as suns rise from moon's end
I can't be patient enough