Running through colors, tripping on shades,
Melancholy state was blown to bits,
By the feel-good grenades.

Like a swarm of bees at war,
Like a flamed arrow piercing straight to the core,
Control has set coarse adrift.

The “tie-down and chain” pandemic,
Will turn out to be waste management,
We are the children from glitter and sparkles,
To cuffs and to chains.

Like a hurricane that hit shore,
Like venom shaking hands with blood vessels,
Give me lunar attitude!
Give me crazed eyes you so adore!

Contentment is your safehouse,
So you can breathe like you mean it.