He was a wannabe music journalist,
A wannabe musician...

Join me in the forests of fire.
Where love and joy burn higher...

Her hair is beautiful, like the glistening ocean
Eyes never tried to deceive me never thought of...

In too the painting we go.
Flowing colors...

Whistled down the road last night
Not a danger too be seen in my eye sight...

Going through the routine..
going through the routine...

How long can this last, tell me how long can this...
Up there all night up all night, say don't you...

Mouths are opened up, gaping at the liquid.
Eyes have had enough, time to cry! resolve there...

Sitting on an old chair in an old room.
sense of your being lifts the moon...

Morning is breaking upon a flow of a draft.
morning is growing reaching it hands up towards...

Grandiose solitude,beauty's innateness,
natures awareness, harnesses a new day...

It is thy will that i should sit and wither,
forget the world that adorns my window of glass...