The ankle bitters caught at the edge of my jeans,
With the adventure I pulled from the depths of my genes,
Seem to be the results of a curious boy in a field.
Trying to escape a city of thoughts and lights,
While trying to catch a grip, or even a feel
Of life without this monstrous city on his shoulders.
A burden of pleasure hidden within the buildings,
While each person seems to be gilding
The facades of their house to make it look pretty,
When in reality the insides are just empty,
Hollow compartments of an apartment
Not put to use because the people are always within the city.
Well I've left that city of demons
To venture into a field of colors, so pretty.
A field that makes you fall asleep,
And dream of that burden as Emerald City.
The only facade is of the God who claims to be a wizard,
When really it is the peoples ambition that gets them further.
The ankle bitters caught at the edge of my jeans,
Along with the blades of green tickling me
Are the most of my problems at this point.
The apex of this landscape; Clear Point.
The apex of my sanity with the joint
Configuration of my clear mind
And the stopping of time combined
That allows me to think with no ceiling,
No roof tops, no buildings,
Just the space between me and this tree,
And space itself.
My thoughts as a beacon reaching over civilization,
Broadcasting to the world paradoxically
Enough to get their attention and get across my intention:
Burn the buildings so we can live together in the fields.
