Infatuation was never a fantasy for the duty-betrothed
With the handicraft and the artwork, arms always loaded
Walking with a blue heart where the market of souls
get purchased for little dreams to connivance’s goals
Life is a bridge with stores of myopia and cataract vision
The adage of spirit crosses it with the march of a mission
Life’s bedsores are for those that wallow in the mundane
To trick the devil’s advocate, never cry over the pain
I am an ashtray king; I live after burning to ashes
In a perennial sunlight, my soul always washes
My road to nowhere is somewhere between the stars
I don’t need a bus ride there, nor any fancy cars
Snowballs roll into an avalanche, that’s the soul falling
In the woods is an ant that does enough for winter’s calling
There’s lichen on the garden hedge, rust on the bolts
But home is picture perfect where obese appetite doesn’t hold
I am an ashtray king; I live after burning to ashes
In a perennial sunlight, my soul always washes
My road to nowhere is somewhere between the stars
I don’t need a bus ride there, nor any fancy cars
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