Winding through the alleys
down to the old bazaar.
wander through the Stone Town
in the Port of Zanzibar.
The colours and the people
the spices in their blood.
Aromas floating through the air
through the neighbourhood.
The laughter and the singing,
the sparkle in the eyes.
The joy of life and living,
never in disguise.
Winding through the alleys,
down to the old bazaar.
The joy of life and living,
on the streets of Zanzibar.

So Many pseudoskeptics
in a world that's ****** hectic.
We're drowning in their slurry
without an antiseptic
Its Cancerous
how much they chance on us.
The cure is in the garden,
but they're killing all the plants on us.
Traditions and renditions
of stories and of ways.
They're being lost
diluted,
polluted,
as we graze away.
Like Cattle,
the battle
seems lost before its fought,
forgetting all the lessons
which mother earth has taught.
We're slipping
and we're tripping,
and I hope the landings soft.
I hope to leave a world behind
where hope is never fraught.

I'm on a one way ticket to Mars
soaring at the speed of light
Seeking, reaching for the stars.
Piercing, through the dark of night.

A one way ticket to what?
Barren lands where no feet thread.
Or maybe we've been there before,
long before the holy bread.

A one way ticket to find,
Hope and love and something pure.
Or maybe we'll be lost and blind,
like so many times before.

Inspiration,
from the deepest,
darkest,
caverns of the lonely soul.
That's the inspiration,
that will guide you,
to your rightheous home.
Every situation,
hesitated with a faithfull groan,
will lead you to a place to grow.
somewhere safe
where your alone.
All the desperation.
The voice among singing crowd,
leads us to a destination,
leads us to the life we own.
Still all the hesitation,
the falling of the drowning word
leads us to sorry chorus
all the broken words we've heard.

The Cut.
The Cold.
The feel of Steel.
The sharpness,
that keeps it all real.
The feelings,
pulsing through your veins,
as you try to smile in vain.

The Love.
The Hate.
The need for words.
The hope,
that everything is pure.
The darkness
curtaining the light,
as the day gives way to night.

The Morn.
The Dawn.
The waking soul.
Shaking,
falling through the floor.
The path,
the one, that leads you home,
will always be, the one you own.

Every situation,
dictated by a righteous sense.
Confused with admiration
when there's no time to recompense.

Shadows that need light to filter,
their own darkness,
seeking light.
They're the shadows,
we all hide from,
when we close our eyes tonight.

Then there comes the morning,
the mourning of the night before.
It's hard to shine in this life,
seeking out who's soul is pure.

Yet every situation,
finding our place on the shelf.
Will lead us to our stable,
lead us to our inner self.

That wind that blows
against the crows
ruffled feathers in the snow.
The field mouse burrowed,
keeping warm,
waiting out, the Winters storm.

And then at last
as darkness fades,
slowly Spring will take the reigns.
Light returning to the days,
colours spring
once more from shade.
Slowly, as the Winter fades.