Saturday, 2 January 2010


Immortal voices that touched me with their image
They shine with inner joy
I imagine myself sitting on the top of the Celcius airship
And the blue sky of Spira sings me a lullaby
What a wonderful evening to be alive
This ship is made out of magic
Frolicking in the clouds soaring in the skyline wind
I have been in that holy innocence of friendship
May we meet again in my private fantasy
Where time flows like leaves in the Autumn gust
Wide spaces of vertical roads and boulevards
All manufactured by a place in our memory
A place where we will return to someday
It feels almost like a photograph
Its not moving but its real somewhere

Here in this spatial vortex of whenelse
Spinning for aeons and minutes away from tomorrow
Feelings turned to matter
And we don't have time to think