In search of what is whole we dwell in dreams
For dreaming can create a sense of truth
We drift along the border of what seems
A pathway paved with mirrors of our youth
We feed our lust with images so obscene
We fill our veins with drops of magic ink
We bleed ourselves and drink our blood to wean
Ourselves from drinking what we’re taught to think
And so between destruction and the awe
We bloom into a being so deranged
But in our inner conflict there’s no flaw
A perfect balance of creative change
The downside is that we will not survive
To show the others how to be alive
bohemiaspeaks 