No sight of comfort,
Within these walls.
I'm seeing shapes,
I'm hearing calls.
I'm burning up,
It starts to spin.
This mission we're in,
Well nobody wins.
Soem call it insane,
Some call it switching lanes.
Your feet sink,
Become faint.
Give into the thought,
you are no saint.
Its not what you wanted
its not why you're here
perceptions of reality,
rooted in fear.

Once I spoke the language of the flowers,
Once I understood each word the caterpillar said,
Once I smiled in secret at the gossip of the starlings,
And shared a conversation with the housefly
in my bed.
Once I heard and answered all the questions
of the crickets,
And joined the crying of each falling dying
flake of snow,
Once I spoke the language of the flowers. . . .
How did it go?
How did it go?