We are tiny little ants,
Living of plastic chants.
Open your eyes and look closely,
The life you're living is ghostly.
Thy neighbour, you can smell,
Whats wrong with that, I can tell.
Space and time is what we need,
To fully apreciate every deed.
Paying with paper sweat,
And living in hoarded regret.
What are we, but plastic dreams,
Wrapped in radiation screams.

Open your eyes and deviate to green,
Artifical directions will never lead,
Hunt for magic and rise above greed,
Without it the world will be freed,
Materialistic labor shall be plead,
That is not the way we need to be,
Maybe we should dance with the tree,
Listening to the earth from root till seed.

My dreams have spoken deep,
Wicked I weep,
For my sorrow is surreal,
In the dark shadows I feel,
Stuck within eternity's turning wheel.
I run into the mist,
Growing wings like Willow I insist.
Riding the winds together,
And flying through stormy weather,
Dressed in nothing more than feather.
Reaching the mountains,
In thunder our tale is growling.
We dance upon the green,
Forgotten we must see,
That this is where we've already been.
Silently reality whispers,
Wake up from this madness,
There is no time for sadness.
For in labor you must bleed,
To fulfill your hungers need,
And pay of fake pupeteers.
This frail trail I will walk,
Untill my haunting green dreams can talk.
Staring upon the flames,
Your call still remains,
Upon the midnight stars I wish,
For you to grand me this scacered rich.
Untill that time,
I will earn the dime,
To pay for this human crime.