Just A Trip

I look at the sky, and deep I go,

Everything just stopped,

The wind is slow.

My eyes carry every bit of my pain,

And I stand here like a vane.

It's not about the hundred things around me,

It's the agony of truth that surrounds me.

All I want is to get rid of the screams,

Now, I stand in the cold,

Trying to ravel my dreams.

Cleaning the scars with a slow pace,

There fell a drop on my face.

My head still up,

And arms opened wide,

Along with the trip, I glide.

Where senses do not exist,

Just a cloud of black smoke,

Which makes it cold.

Where darkness can be seen,

Through the burning green gold.

Where the silence speaks to you,

And you fly;

There I stand like a vane,

Looking at the sky.