What holy cities are to nomadic tribes - a symbol of race and a bond of union - great books are to the wandering souls of men: they are the Meccas of the mind.
G.E. Woodberry
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So Cold
All those know is to photograph
People when they're on their knees
Say your prayers and wear your black
And be grateful it's not you and me
how am I supposed to live
Knowing that they're dying
How am I supposed to love
Knowing that they're crying
when did we get so cold
When did we get so cold
When did we grow so old
So old
Raise me up to where the wind blows
Out of the ghettos - oh
Raise me up to where the sun glows
Out of these shadows - oh
When did we get so cold
When did we get so cold
When did we grow so old
So old