Where does inspiration come from?
A bubble waiting to burst,
thirsting for a host,
making the most of this splendor,
turning one thought into many...
creating something worth sharing.
Do we allow these thoughts to come to us only when we're ready?
What if they never come?
It's been a dry spell.
When will it rain again?
Again,
Again,
Again...
Is it a crime to be this happy?
Something is bound to go wrong.
Where does inspiration come from?
Despair.
It's been a dry spell.
Somewhere deep inside I want a storm.
Is it a crime to be this happy?
The self-indulgent reckoner in my mind,
give me chaos.  
You want the perfect dream...
But you could never possibly imagine,
or believe that everyday is already the perfect dream.
Give me chaos over a happy ending,
again, again, again...