Wisps of endless smoke vines
Trailing through the broken sky
Dust, a melancholy gray
I know why the skies cry
Why they become bitter
As frozen
As the Artic ice
Because
They’re flying away
Nobody knows where
But it doesn’t matter
As long as
Its not here
I watch them gracefully take off
Vanishing to the wistful longings of sky
And I wish
I could join them
Not knowing where to go
But I’ll fly
Anywhere but here
