I look at the clouds and I see nothing,
The moonlight through the tress pictures no beauty,
The words I write dont mean anything
I do it all, because that seems to be my duty.
A few more lines, and I think I’ll be done
Music seems to be a superposition of wave.
The mind is fast, the legs dont seem to run
Creativity soars, I cant make it behave.
Its about the eyes that worry me,
I see to much of it, it makes me blind
Chain me, I dont want to be free
Give me the earth, to it i will bind.
When I reach the end, its a summit, it is
Does how high or how far really define bliss?