Spectrum of hard way
Lovely picture of a blue sky painted with fear
Where are the birds to accomplish the springs of my heart ?
Am I dreaming or may I beeing told illusions ?
So my habit needs some distortion,
Yes I am a liar, vogue of an ill spirit.
Smoke my passion I don’t turn
the way into the so high moutain
is just appreciation of the unknown
settling in my meditation room
Bizarre are the peapole
for whom you’ve send garden of pure red
never addicted to the purity upon you head
Am I dreaming or may I beeing told illusions ?
Yes I am a liar, of the big lucky travels
looking back the mirror
I see your handling hate
looking through the window
I met your eyes
I trumble to please the wind
than I close my eyes
but the darkness needs you a master
Am I dreaming or may I beeing told illusions ?
settling in my meditation room
the lights are the rebels of my fist
The hand that stands for the aid
no need for remedy,
I feel better with wounds….
…At least I feel real