Me and insane always meet again,
Crossroads with the alkaloid sin,
The flowers are my friends,
The big great buds that develop friendship,
The stems we sleep under..
The rose beds create timeless highs,
Orange butterflies and there wings made of clouds,
Every hour is 5 up here,
And every second up here, down there is years,
I swim along the horizon..
Not to touch the sun, but to feel the psilcybin,
Altering of dreams, to the alcoholics views and fiends,
And many other things, to the nicotine's,
Heights aren't for everybody,
Maybe just for me..

With you, my experience is open,
Run on sentence with some closer..