Bipolar

It isn't over again but it's cool to think we're friends
and I need to smoke a little more without demands.

High enough, high enough? Dying love, dying love,
Waiting to be born into a serpent sun high above.

Channel the motion and trample the oceans
the rushing emotion crushes grim notions.

Feeling isn't dealing and fleeing isn't being
but it's nice to hear the whispers burning.