Apr 2019
The vision is clear
Glowing like the sun above our heads
We have been escaping for a lifetime
Just to be
Dragged to where we started
Who are we kidding?
We are kids trying to grasp onto
The beam at the other end of the wire
Naïve spirits clouding our reality
We both understand the dangers of dreaming
Waking up to the croak of ravens
It’s time for us to craft a tunnel
Distant from our realm of possibility
Let’s escape to the sound
Of the roaring drums
Calling out our names
We will mount high
Higher than what we would call home
Climbing and passing by
The sea of children twirling to the hymn
The hymn of memories lost.
Flowers bloom and so do we
Sunflowers shine in their meadow bed and so do we
In this paradise
We are the rulers of our kingdom
With time we manifest our destiny
We control the man-made clock
That has so desperately tried to dictate our paths.
In this paradise
Houses clutter in rows
Damp shirts and pants sway lazily
On the wire connecting every neighbor
The language of love
Slips through the citizens’ tongues
The vision is clear
Fiestas are religiously thrown
Every weekend
Bottles of Sangria wine
Line the limestone streets
Families holler in laughter
In the joy of what it is to be alive
Nothing is sweeter than having a pulse
Feeling the sweat trickle down your spine
The children talking amongst each other.
Flamenco performers stomp
As people move from house to house
Never leaving a trace of unhappiness behind
Never leaving the group behind.
Fiestas keeps the city alive
The city of new dreams
The city where the man-made clock
Doesn’t hold anyone down
The city of fresh beginnings
And a destiny that can be controlled.
In this paradise
Waves silently crash against
The algae covered boulders
Seagulls sing their freedom cry
Give us hope
Bring us tangible rationality
In an era of irrationality
We need a savior
From fallen grace
Seashells adorn the delicate sand
That sticks to the soles of our feet
The warmth of the sun
Kiss our golden skin
Salty tears drip down our faces,
Is it the emptiness we feel?
When we are alone?
Or the realization
That we cease to exist.
The vision is clear
Our past lives
Become our past selves
And our past selves
Get lost in what we wished to be.
When will we learn?
That our vision isn’t clear
Twenty-twenty vision isn’t enough.
Glowing like the sun above our heads
We have been escaping for a lifetime
Just to be
Dragged to where we started
Who are we kidding?
We are kids trying to grasp onto
The beam at the other end of the wire
Naïve spirits clouding our reality
We both understand the dangers of dreaming
Waking up to the croak of ravens
It’s time for us to craft a tunnel
Distant from our realm of possibility
Let’s escape to the sound
Of the roaring drums
Calling out our names
We will mount high
Higher than what we would call home
Climbing and passing by
The sea of children twirling to the hymn
The hymn of memories lost.
Flowers bloom and so do we
Sunflowers shine in their meadow bed and so do we
In this paradise
We are the rulers of our kingdom
With time we manifest our destiny
We control the man-made clock
That has so desperately tried to dictate our paths.
In this paradise
Houses clutter in rows
Damp shirts and pants sway lazily
On the wire connecting every neighbor
The language of love
Slips through the citizens’ tongues
The vision is clear
Fiestas are religiously thrown
Every weekend
Bottles of Sangria wine
Line the limestone streets
Families holler in laughter
In the joy of what it is to be alive
Nothing is sweeter than having a pulse
Feeling the sweat trickle down your spine
The children talking amongst each other.
Flamenco performers stomp
As people move from house to house
Never leaving a trace of unhappiness behind
Never leaving the group behind.
Fiestas keeps the city alive
The city of new dreams
The city where the man-made clock
Doesn’t hold anyone down
The city of fresh beginnings
And a destiny that can be controlled.
In this paradise
Waves silently crash against
The algae covered boulders
Seagulls sing their freedom cry
Give us hope
Bring us tangible rationality
In an era of irrationality
We need a savior
From fallen grace
Seashells adorn the delicate sand
That sticks to the soles of our feet
The warmth of the sun
Kiss our golden skin
Salty tears drip down our faces,
Is it the emptiness we feel?
When we are alone?
Or the realization
That we cease to exist.
The vision is clear
Our past lives
Become our past selves
And our past selves
Get lost in what we wished to be.
When will we learn?
That our vision isn’t clear
Twenty-twenty vision isn’t enough.
