Some of you have read a variation of it. "The City Of Your Own." I wrote it years ago. I thought of it as I was laying in bed. I jumped up and scribbled it down. Ironically, that which I scribbled down was my favourite version. It's simple and melodic. But I can't seem to remember it at all now. It's just beyond the border of my mind. Slightly beyond reproach. The poem itself has become a metaphor for that which I was trying to convey in the poem, strangely enough. I'm starting to forget the other past versions, too. All of them, in fact. But the melody and message will always be familiar.