Weary of straying, greatly
I sit on a remote diner
and order a sundae.
Entranced, I bask and reckon;
Those tiny blokes with neckties
in gelid offices, confer you
revolutions and umbrage.
I saw the elm, vortex,
I can transmute cheap metal into gold,
I am able to take any form I like,
I know who I was in my previous lives
and I can vanish all kind of morbidities,
The years of quiet knowledge cultivation,
Alone, the madness amplification,
Born of a disconnected from reality,
And gone haywire, big imagination...
The deeply soft and noble balance,
Of the stalwart punkish youthhood,
Endlessly dark and white fairhood,
According to circumstances.