Hey you,
Out there in the cold,
Getting lonely, getting old,
Can you feel me?
Hey you,
Standing in the aisle,
With itchy feet and fading smile,
Can you feel me?
Hey you,
Don't help them to bury the light.
Don't give in, without a fight.
Hey you,
Out there on your own,
Sitting naked by the phone,
Would you touch me?
Hey you,
With your ear against the wall,
Waiting for someone to call out,
Would you touch me?
Hey you,
Would you help me to carry the stone?
Open your heart, I'm coming home.
But it was only, fantasy.
The wall was too high, as you can see.
No matter how he tried, he could not break free.
And the worms ate into his brain.
Hey you,
Out there on the road,
Always doing what you're told,
Can you help me?
Hey you,
Out there beyond the wall,
Breaking bottles in the hall,
Can you help me?
Hey you,
Don't tell me there's no hope at all.
Together we stand, divided we fall.
2. About two weeks ago I went on a day trip to North west of Tehran, Zanjan. These are just three photos of many photos I took during the trip! Becasue of low speed of the internet in Iran, I almost die to upload just a few! So, bear with me:)
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A place that people used to wash their cloth there!
Inside Kataleh Khour Cave.
3. Alexthegirl has written another nice story.
I couldn't find it in her site, so again I copy it here all.
Care for roses
After my walk to the post this morning, I decided to pay a long overdue visit to my little neighbourhood bookstore. Its well-stocked bargain section always offers some kind of find that satisfies my book addiction (although my stop here always leaves me wanting wanting more). Today I happened across a $10 book on roses that seemed to contain all the information one would need. I took it to a nearby couch to inspect it a little more.
A few minutes into it, a frail looking woman who appeared to be in her 80's came and sat beside me.
"What are you reading?"she asked. I showed her my book. I explained to her I just moved into a home where I had inherited a dozen various rose bushes. Although they had been blooming perfectly for the first two weeks they now were lagging a little bit. Just leaving them as they were didn't seem to help them any.
"Oh honey," she said soothingly, "you don't need a book."
"I don't? Then what?"
All of a sudden, this quiet, frail woman who was dressed so pretty in that tea-serving grandmother kind of way bellowed, "Violence!"
I was taken a little off guard.
"Yes, violence! Lots of it! You have to cut them on an angle when the bloom dies, just above the leaf. Force it to bloom more is what will happen. Like all things, give it a little trauma and it can either die or grow. Roses will bloom more. Hardships sometimes produce the most amazing things."
And then she smiled sweetly, got up and left, leaving me to wonder if it was just roses she was talking about.
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