Treasure Island

Daniel Richards

(09-11-1982 / London, England)

**Pit Stop At The Subconscious Station**


Pit Stop At The Subconscious Station

Our world’s a soft type perfume,
One worn close but gone by the falling of morning dew,
What are we suppose to do come the morning grind on, or go on and repeat the mundane,
Or slip on by and take everything away,

Fragrance failing and the too true smells arrive,
rising from the cesspit we have created for ourselves,
society of miscreants they are few, but they lead the majority blinded by there given point of view, and as reality is perception are you receiving what you wish or are you along the aligned who have succumbed to there given view

I wish for nothing more but freedom and knowledge free for all,
From ancient text to political mis-comings,
Deep inside this brain of mine we can hide because all they ever wanted was your life,
A conyon of the crescent moon, when hiding here will give a picture clear of a true point of view different from mine as mine is from you

Our world’s a soft type perfume,
One worn close but gone by the falling of morning dew,
What are we suppose to do come the morning grind on, or go on and repeat the mundane,
Or slip on by and take everything away

At the edge of the world is a map of the universe and in your mind you can escape fly up high to the nova’s light so bright or to the planets as they spin,
But always remember upon your return there will be exclusion with those awaiting to cuff you drug and lock you in a mental instution

Because to dream of a heavenly place of pure human unification is a place my dear this world wont allow in any exploration

Because the world is a broken heart with perception falling apart and together we cause even more harm so dream of a heavenly station and night by night, cacti by cacti, fly the flight to the pit stop subconscious station and heal you mind for the inevitable awakening tide

Submitted: Friday, February 20, 2009

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