E.A Rumfield
02-18-2013, 10:37 PM
Things seem more gentle
basking under the winter moon,
as inside this psilocybin dream
called life I wander up
and down pitch black roads
reminding me of a rushing river.
With aimless steps, I wander as well as wonder, I move parallel
to the rhythm of the world, just a tile in a Spanish mosaic,
I but one note,
trapped inside the greatest melody.
basking under the winter moon,
as inside this psilocybin dream
called life I wander up
and down pitch black roads
reminding me of a rushing river.
With aimless steps, I wander as well as wonder, I move parallel
to the rhythm of the world, just a tile in a Spanish mosaic,
I but one note,
trapped inside the greatest melody.