"I used to be the town crier in a city of stone throwers Until my soul was laid bare and displayed in the pearled square Ignored, more than a lot, not less, no one understood my thought, process I was gagged and bound over noise complaints But, commanding the resolve that destroys constraints I, found my escape in a melding of memories The next thing I know, I'm rowing this boat And blowing this note on an old tarnished trumpet" Buck 65