XX

Sometimes I feel like I'm wandering through a Valley, a never ending alley.

Sometimes I feel like the words getting pale from collapsing in the detail.

Like a Black sailor within a constant Trailer

about the Spring, but afraid to sing.

Like a flying Bird, thinking about the magic, which holds the wings up high.

While I sit there and describing the drowning sky,

while I sit there with a longing to fly
 

And everything I do is an irregular stain on the ground and the ground is made out of sound.

I am a vision on an unknown mission.

Planting a flower, every Morning anew

An uncertain tissue

Covering the empty hole of my soul

And I'm constantly trying to empower

Everyone shall Take a flower

Take what you Need

But write about the Bleed

Write about it as a Field of Roses

Describe it like the arch of Moses

Tell them even they need to cry

But thats just the Rain coming from the sky

A coat of fog around the Epilog

of a story untold but written bold

On the Fundament of hold

And carrying a meaning

On the Screening within my eye

And I see Jesus in the Rain as Cars Drive by

But I rather hurry aside

Instead to cry

sometimes I feel alike

And sometimes he seems like Guide

We tent to brutalize

Beauty wears a disguise

But only within a Locked heart

Like a tired work of Art

Which is not moving

And without direction

It glows in inperfection

It's falling apart

What is the purpose

What is my Part

One day I May see clear

And it all lies within "what an idea"

Stitting in a small room,

with nothing around, just the afternoon

and a prayer for Bloom

As Feelings try to covey

They are the blood of a Soul

Made out of coal

And I'm ripped by a dream of broadway

I never was anything else than Black

I guess there is no way back
 

Is Life as it seems?

I'm a shadow of my dreams

Like the Black which is sourrounding the eye

To emphasize a destinys disguise

Just to hold my head up high,

Oh I want to fly