Who can fathom the thoughts of the moon as it sit's in the sky on a hot afternoon?

Or the lovers quarrel  of the sea on the shore? or a river who's banks have flooded the moor?

Or the voice of stars  as  they fall from the sky; do they laugh or do they cry?

Who can understand the mind of a dog, or the chicken or hen or the old barn hog?

Only the mind of a poet who thinks like a shroom,
Who breaths the fire of flowers without bloom.

Try this offer from natures boon.
Just relax and you'll understand soon.

Then take a walk through the woods and ask the trees,
for they have more secrets then they have leaves.

No matter what I do
theres always something
I want more
Like a camera
or a trip
or even just something
just a little bit better
than what I have, even if its older, because
sometimes things
of old are
so much better
than the new,
like how I look at
These cameras I dream of
in stores, in
flea markets,
I hold their predecessors,
their grandfathers
and feel the cold calm
of the metal body
in my hands, and know that
things just aren’t built this way any
more, and people
aren’t what they used to be, or
so it seems,
from the history classes
and all the books
I read, about life
before it was my time
and how people seemed
to give a ****,
and didn’t just sit
and whine
and waste so much time,
but how did they live
before Facebook
how could they
fall in love without
Tinder,
or read the news without
Twitter
or pass their classes without
google on their Androids in their laps to pass the answers on the test before them?

So I guess they were just tougher
than us, like these old cameras
I want, and they
didn’t want, like we
want to pretend we need
so we don’t have to accept
what’s right in front of us.

Our excuse that
We need to wait for film
To develop.

I´ve never felt this way,
Dying all the time,
Bottling up my sorrow
So I wouldn´t cry everywhere.

Putting my head up,
To avoid the tears from overflowing
My eyes, which didn´t open
Everytime I left my house.

Holding my breath,
So I could turn invisible
To anyone and everyone,
Everywhere I´d go.

I´ve never felt this way,
It´s made me feel like
Going back home.

they’ve got no name for me,
i lost it to the wretched sea;
missing ship with no name,
waves of days all rain the same.

playing god takes its toll;
lost my little wretched soul.
oceans birth sea of death,
i’m only one left.

they've got no name for me,
i lost it to the wretched sea.
___

dying along the way,
better think of something quick.
sailing a long, long way,
the wretched sea guides my trip.

___
take my time, take a bow,
but only when you show me how.
missed a step, lost my place:
welcome to the human race.

blood runs deep, and the water’s cold;
never doing what i’m told.
mud is thick, conscious drips,
the low-light hanging moon dips.

they've got no name for me,
i lost it to the wretched sea.
___

dying along the way,
better think of something quick.
sailing a long, long way,
the wretched sea guides my trip.

what if we took
a secret trip
some place far away,
the two of us.

who cares where we go?
i do not need
to get away from anything;
i just want
something

something with you that
both of us will remember;
something great --
that only we know about.

coma sleeps and powder dreams
you have to pay to get things like these
the price is really cheap
so sell your soul and give all to me
I'll take you to places you have never been
you can open doors and find new things
heres the treasure, now follow me

truths you would never believe
and lies that push you on your knees
I'll make you beg and plead
so just give it up to me

there is a mirror
look close
you still think your beauty is only skin deep?
now take your skin off and see

remember you obey me
you gave me your soul so you wouldn't die lonely
listen close my dear
do you hear the whispers?
do you feel your very fears?
they creep up on you
they want to play

lets fade away
I am the cigarette smoke that fills your lungs
I am the cat that grabbed your tongue

death do we part dear
and if you wake up
you were dead from the start

I'm always surrounded
by any people
who never wanted to be happy
in their own destiny.

It boils in me
the will of the traveler
of wanting to leave
every moment

I've never been in other place,
except those in which I needed to be
– just for necessity... nothing else.

To Montreal I've never traveled,
but it must be better than here.
And maybe any place is that:
a refuge to the excess of monotony.