Close your eyes to the image
The words you hear are harmless
Listen to tunes of thin air
Insulate you from the fear
Of good hope
The rhythm of your nature is
preserved
While inhibition gives way to
restitution
Of despairs of an existence
That can only be repaired by
exaltation
Of the free spirit
You realize that you were never who
you are
Was it the maple syrup in your oats
Or your tongue she tasted sweet?
With red pepper in your hopes
You begin to weep
Likewise without the image of what
you see
You are likely to experience in
reality
A certain idiosyncrasy as it may
appear to the age of reason
You realize that science all along
was intellectual treason.
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