the sound of a drum is the pulse of the earth - the blood flowing through my hands as i beat at the sythentic material between me and nothing is the same blood that has flown through a thousand thousand viens before me and will flow through a thousand thousand again. my drum echoes low and deep sweeping across the unlit street cascading down the little hill pouring into the mighty ramapo jumping the bank over rt 202 and onto 287 it goes hopping a ride on the back of ten ton trailer truck bound for everywhere the beat hops off in nyc and flits about the streets seaking solace and solitude amongst the millions of feet finding nothing worth while it hops the path to hoboken and then nj trans back to mahwah wehre a quick dive in the mighty ramapo will take it back home to me and my weary palms