Woke the night,
With a leg cold asleep,
I can’t move, I won’t move,
I’ve got, I’ve got,
An incubated spark,
I’ve got, I’ve got,
A witty remark.
Felt down the rabbit hole,
To find all that was left in mold,
Countless stories anxious to be told.
My eyes, my words, alight,
They fooled me.
Screamed slanderous insanity,
To secure false vanity.
A cluttered vase, an organized mess,
I emerged,
I tasted, I found,
Floating in the profound,
Inspiration.
I blew on the straws of depression.
Said goodbye to cold nights,
Self-induced, fragmented frights,
And booked a thousand flights.
To Rome,
To Elvis,
To Neverland,
To the sky.
To the silky waves of Manroe’s skirt,
To a crooked lad with a name like Kurt.
To feeling alive,
And to my lucky number five.
Woke the daylight,
With my lips pursed,
I can’t move, I won’t move,
I’ve heard, I’ve heard,
What was always inside,
I’ve heard, I’ve heard,
There’s nothing to hide.
Glue sticks and paper cuts,
Corrode my eyes.
Songs sung for serenity,
A clover for eternity.
A clear casted face,
Forming with a slow pace,
I emerged,
I flew, I found,
Floating in the profound,
Inspiration.
I heard the bells ring,
Saw the light bulb flash,
As the captain said,
Beware of a fall,
I promised to call,
As I voyaged,
To tears,
To awaiting fears,
To China,
To the Whitehouse,
To Hendrix,
To a crooked lad with name like Felix.
To feeling alive,
And to my lucky, lucky, number five