Morning sounds fixed on clouds and twisted dials straightened by shrunken miles
Time for change
Like a sacred spot where one waits for hope
Like a nail torn too deep
Like the fragile thread that still holds the rope
Like a word captured and never released
Time for change.

Evening sounds buried in towns and broken buttons enabled to frame motion
Time for change
Like a soft grip unexpected
Like a leader alone with no followers
Like a partial light within a wreck
Like a wheel stopped turning
Time for change.

A change economy and aggressive policy transforms the inner and stretches the identity
A shape emerges with foreign characteristics but consistent abilities


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