People always rushing round, makin' time to fuss and to worry. Get your feet back on the ground, it's no good to live in a hurry. Take it easy on you… - John Miles Foley

Could a feeling be so wrong?
Why I left you for so long.
Home. Though I miss you more each day
there was nothing you could say,
I had to go my way:
show them I was older now
and not some toy that they could play with.
Tell me how everything I need today is?
Lost, only traces on faces
that won't remember me now.
Yes I'm going back there somehow.
Lost where my memory waits for me.
Home is where I belong

To put it most simply, the oral traditional idiom persisted because—even in a written incarnation—it offered the only avenue to the immanent poetic tradition, the invisible but ever-present aesthetic context for all of the poems.

I was blinded. Yes, I was blinded,
and the tender touch that said so much doesn't need me now.
I was blinded, how I was blinded.
When I think about how far I've got to fall
it won't help that I was blinded by it all.