Faded blue round table, off to the right of the room
an ashtray full of half-smoked blunts and empty bottles litter the tabletop
Fog and static of lost dreams and memories
We never lost our demons
We just learn to live above them
trying to hear the better Angels of our Nature
(instead of living in the darkness between)
Forget about what it seems
And dive deep into our past of screams
And darker things
I like this place
Dark, silent, empty without a face
Far from the race
There is no suitcase
I just want to get high
Higher than the sky
Past July
Time's flying by
I don't need mushrooms to reach deep within myself
I like the pain
I was writing you letters in my dream and hiding them all over the place
When we took the shrooms I was eating your dreams
that is life is not what it seems...
