It's late, I'm about to drift,
With nothing inside to say I've arrived,
To lay my head in a warm bed,
Not this rock I'm under,
Cold as it is, the heater at least helps,
Before it wears like rust,
It's not like I can complain,
They are family after all,
My eyes hurt, they feel red,
I can't read you clearly,
Will you stop your blabbering,
It's quiet, it's dark here,
Can you see? can you feel?
Can you hear the humble sound?
Blue waves forming in the back of your eyes,
Magic fluttering like butterflies,
Sometimes I wonder,
If I'm just stoned,
I should just about drift now...
©retroletgo
R