Still Trippin’
It’s a cold dimmed morning in a wet moist city of grayer blues and darker whites. It’s a blurry view from a broken glassed window. It’s just the first early breath of the drunken new day, the first cold tear of the widowed moon. Everything crumbles with cold, everything shouts from freezing, every atom stands as still as you’re eyes looking nowhere and nowhere else. And there are you, just a rock, an useless being, an uneffectual piece of a man. The lumber by your side may pass you by, the fire of the Olympus is not what your mind’s at.
When I see you and you don’t even cry, I hit you and you don’t even try, to hit back, to stop the beating, to come with some kind of a comeback; that’s when I realise life is passing us by, like a sparkle of the sweetest pain, a little shade of the softest fire, like the glow of the unremained. It’s time to get away, our lives expiring, our existences getting dryer, our wet heads just unrelying, our darkest forces ready to explote, our evil sights waiting to reload; can’t you see how bloddy far are we?
Death shall come and it will have your eyes, I can sense it at every step, I can understand it at each of your broken breathes, I know it whenever you look at me and we just can’t bear to stand still. The sparkling of a lost light, with yellow icing guides us to the ultimate trip, a soft guidance through a tunnel of nothing and nothing more tells us the way to the Nevermore. Oh! we should just hold hands once in our lives and feel that irresistable feeling of warmth, just for a little instant of our lifetimes! And then feel the unstoppable sense of cold and nothingness that is death, palely closing to each other, and maybe touch once more before we entirely become solid.
Now let us drink this town,
It’s time to get away!
