Three in the morn
That's when the ideas form
When the gibbering par
Monsters with eyes cinnabar
takes over what's left of
sanity, rationality and tranquility
What remains of you
is nothing more than
lunacy, frailty and insanity
At times like this
When everything is bliss
I ask myself repeatedly
To what do i owe this pleasure?
In the train of thoughts
I travel to the land of lost
Hopes,desires and aspirations
Boxed up to be thrown
Down the subduction zone
At times like this
When everything is a bliss
I ask myself repeatedly
To what do I owe this pleasure