cry another wrongful plead
but the drums never give off
it is something other than that
not the hi-hats
you
take a pill from the floating trees
i burn
i swish away the dream of your mind, though, it isn't that drunk
but you still want to fly the days but i know that nights,
it isn't complete,
without
your mind you are made up
and i still feel bad
i hope my flower grows
in your heart  -- can we
collide?