Six Feet Under


    Art in a cup, heaven’s reflection in everything, fate, just a pen, that understands both the beginning and the ending, a spider that knows exactly what sort of web she''s spinning, the sun and the moon, puppets dancing, life and love, happiness and it’s price, the heavens and hell''s echo, if you ever thought life was great, or a blessing, the echo of a delusion, a mermaid pulled you in, and this whole time you''ve been dreaming…


    River Spirits


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    Demons, a weird faith in an imperfect idea, some simplistic form of power, giving in to something inferior, under the guise of delusion, or an advantage when you’re low and beaten, at most, a reflection or an echo of the heavens, or old age and entropy, the casting away of our morals and the growth of mushrooms, as above so below, where you are and what you yearn for, an echo, death and transition, Uranus or Neptune, how does the spirit flow, will we ever travel the depths of space, or architecture and an intellectual design, on the earth, are we just growing fruits, our dreams eaten, angels hoping for utopia, are we just a bunch of monkeys, living with our delusions, doomed and contained within a prison, so many roads to walk and so many spiritual questions, climb Mount Olympus and come back, tell us, was it worth nothing…