The tides are taking me home,
On a bed of shimmering ice.
The dawn of your smile,
The heart is on stake,
For the hope of those days,
I will carry this break.
For the coffee you make,
I live out this day,
To see you smile,
To see your heart in fire,
I would open those doors,
To the chance of you and me,
Standing in the sea,
Holding your hand.

One midnight, let this car broke down.
Let the lines of ordinary fade away,
For we would troll in the unpredictable lands,
Where the stars rises in the day.
We shall drink in the coconut shells,
That lingering taste of the wild starch,
The possibility of a new choice,
To never worry about the daily march.
One chance is all we get,
To hop in this adventure and never look back,
One reason is all we need,
To see life in the wildest of ways,
One glory is all we share,
To think back at our old golden days.

The alcohol has set in,
The jazz has lighten the mind,
With the wine rushing,
The rays of that far end memory.
The Beatles were on the old tapes,
While the old man reached his deck,
Brought out an crystal glass,
A drink was poured and served,
As the hands rose to her brown hair,
Shades of a beautiful lady poured up,
Eyes dimming with the black,
Yet clinging at her face.
She seemed hot in her sadness robe,
While her hair played to the song,
A sundress night on a cloudy sky,
For she was the robber,
That robbed me of my security,
With a dagger of hope and life.
Tuned to this lost night affair,
I laid my heart and eyes on the tables,
Rowed the boat to her,
Stood beside with a smile,
She was crying goodbyes to her past.
Then we talked through difficult times,
Shared a shy smile,
Like a beautiful song,
I turned and we touched our drunk lips,
She leaned and this hands hugged her,
Lost in that classy moment,
The time ceased and the tapes played,
A lost love song.

To the distant creator I ask,
The reason to my quest,
Am I just a ***** in a machine?
Or mere a shadow cast by life.

The strokes of a painter's brush,
Swelled upon the canvas to create life,
Am I that painting of yours?
Or just a coincidental biological mess.

In this circular stone I live,
Floating in a space of infinite debris,
Am I just a thinking tree?
Or someone with a greater destiny.

I ask you through my lonesome walks,
With eyes dipped in question,
And heart soaked tired.
What's the purpose for this existence?

How can I fulfill the solace quest?
That my closed eyes had dreamt.
I don't ask for survival tricks,
Just a greater purpose to live my last days.

A mere rusted iron in this oxygenated world,
Excuse the pity brown, I can live with it,
Just find me a tool,
This rusted ***** can fit in,
This rusted ***** can fit in.

The cries of a newborn,
The wings of a butterfly,
And the leaves of the fall,
All share a common epilogue,
We call them the voice of the innocence.

The reason for a death,
The way to live a life,
And the pages of a history book,
All share a common vision,
We call them the perks of time.

The strings of a guitar,
The petals of a flower,
And the colours on a canvas,
All share a common notion,
We call them the art of emotion.

The words of a writer,
The knife of a ******,
And the survival of the culture,
All share a common disaster,
We call them the witnesses of true despair.

To the symphony of sound,
To the memory of reason,
To the rush of this blood,
I am a voice in the space.

To this ever hurting ride,
To this mesmerizing show,
To this aching cycle of pain,
I show myself the truth.

For this dust of broken dreams,
For this lust of materialistic piles,
For this blizzard of shameful lies,
I stand above these falls,

For I seek love in my way,
For I see the stars in the dark,
For I appreciate beauty in the lost,
For I call myself a human.