We look to the stars because they mean nothing.
Nothing but the mirror of what is thought and felt by the beholder.
All the chaos of my heart is inhaled into the dark sky,
where I make my own constellation
to understand what makes no sense.

Charting and analysing the spheres of flame
that fell into the night by predestined accident
as if they hold
the greatest secret of all.

They hold wishes that fly, souls that have died ad a sense of perspective
that cannot be traced anywhere else.
While the subways around create the perfect sound
for my emotion fatigue,
I'll paint the dusk with something new.
No on will see the same stars
that I do.