More often than sometimes I'd like to know
how it would feel to see the world from up high.
A hot-air balloon stuck in the sky,
but not because it's broken or the wind isn't right,
but because in the sky
it is limitless; about the red skies and black lies of the realm below.
Is it a blessing or a curse,
a truth or a lie?
The sky in its deception,
the balloon flies high.