Idea´s seem so clear
from way up here
When the craft still kissed the ground
I phantomed away to our bodies spinnin round
exploring themselves . . .inch-by-inch
embraced, loving victims, speaking perfect french . . .
/
I can´t figure that beeing important up here.
And it´s not about the altitude.
Many people like to mention that looking down to earth makes them feel free as a bird.
But this here is about the journey itsself.
Though I count it only another one for me.
This starts with illusions, dreams, fading to what I want from life, wild fantasies rushing in a cold sweat as we leave though fired by the icy sun I met up here.
There´s touch.
And visions of every touch that could possibly make me feel more alive, though I feel full of power, energy . . . I always search for it, its never enough for me. . .
I like to explode . . .
And love.
Love may be the ultimate power.
Oh . . .
What a fuckin dreamer ! ! !
Ain´t it strange this enormous force is the only one we can´t get totally and completely by ourselves?
Heaven´s sake!
Absorve me. . .
And fly away again . . .
drift rage bump, heart races, head´s out of itsself, what a gun, lose control, heaven´s and hell´s rush through me, I feel by myself.
When I dream about this journey to end.
And a body next to mine.
