These cobwebs around him represent the new,
And the old is symbolized by the same plain color schemes.
These cobwebs of silver wash away the dull
Colors and replace them with glowing embers.
He picks it before the fields are burned,
But right as the fire has hit the skyline.
The moonlight lights his path away
From this place he calls his Imagination.
His only stigma from this land is marked
By a stench that doesn't satisfy as does the taste.
The taste doesn't satisfy as does the feel,
And the field feels as of one thousand needles.
The trees look like hallow skeletons
Glowing white amidst the black backdrop.
Like crystals on an island of diamonds.
A virus in the mind of the wise.
The green mountain tops burn to red,
While the volcano smoke frees the mind.
A jump fades into a fly,
And a leap fades back into old, same, plain color schemes.
