I dreamt I saw you taking soft focus pictures of little things like chickens and such. I liked the photographs you made in New Orleans, I liked what your eyes did very much.
But I haven't seen them do much of anything but roll.
I dreamt I saw your one good companion, so I asked him where I'd find you but he did not know. The truth is I'm displaced, not fully erased, just caught in the pace of time's prying toll.
And I haven't seen you do much of anything but go.
It's like falling to sleep with your back to the wall, what I mean is to say, I was uncomfortable. And tumbled through dreams like the leaves in a fall, swept up by wind and so I won't recall that...
I dreamt I saw you, your face silhouetted. Your hair was still long and it smelled of the wind. Then you radiated light, cut through the dark part of the night, I had my camera but didn't set it right.
And I haven't seen you do much of anything but glow.
Page's songs while often melodically playful and charismatic share with the listener a colorful, natural, and busy world. Not overly idealistic, immune to loss, heartache, or troubles. tamarin
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