The Trip

The archaic and heavy words
from the stone age,
drag and lead me, to a mental city

Metropolis with streets, of rare smells
where my steps become strange,
and sounds are tiny.

A place where titanium lips
kiss and cover my skin
crumpled by the flogging
of a rending sensuality.

A place where they created
Abraxas from ice and fire
and they believe only what
their eyes see.

It's a glass ball viewing the future
like a witch vomiting a nasty past,
and a wizard made of a lovely essence
contaminates a wide and square mind.

Sometimes when they find me there
I'm present but in a million places lost
looking for collosal forces to build
the everlasting tears
I have never dropped.

As the piano notes, sound like a poisonous fluid
this trip becomes sad, and fucking hard,
now the dream is not a quiet walk,
it is a pyramidal nightmare that lifts me
to its zenith and throws me down,
because this false reality shows me
the reason I'm in this town.
because this false reality shows me
the reason I fell.