by Christos Polydorou
In my quest for truth.
I was beating around the
I was barking up the wrong tree.
Either that or I
burning the midnight oil.
Biting off more than I could
I was putting wool over my eyes,
and once in a blue
a picture would paint a thousand words.
I’d hear all of it, the whole nine
Straight from the horse’s mouth:
Take it with a grain of
Taste your own medicine before you give it away.
Don’t count your chickens before the eggs have
Don’t put all your eggs in one basket.
Don’t cry over spilt
In the heat of the moment.
They’ll be a method in your
Jump on the bandwagon.
Hit the nail on the