With billowing clouds of ancient scent,
The old world creaks through time to me,
Emboldened in firm wooden legs,
Which stride beyond their ages past,
Deep thrones that mellow in the time,
That wait upon dear Khronos with,
Neat papered shelves and hardy beams.

I see a dreamscape out far out of blue,
The sky is like the turning underwave,
It's light like bowing bubbles pressed close up,
A kind of flowing network made in threes,
They bundle up and wobble in the wind,

I am adrift in vacant currents swarming,
They swarm until I'm full of stillness true,
I'm greeted by no floor but silence by,
The underwave accomplished in the breeze,
I wonder why it dwells just out of reach,

I see the light turn gently in the rays,
Out deeply into skies above I gaze.

Changing cars like new socks,
Changing friends like old shoes,
Oh the wild insanity,
Oh the deep insatiability,
To empty your mind to fill it with rubbish,
Too empty for peace,
Too empty for solace.

Changing cars like new socks,
Changing your mind like old bedsheets,
Oh the crushing confusion,
Oh the fathomless folly,
To speak double lies to wear double faces,
Too loud for advice,
Too loud for still places.

Oh Prince of Peace,
Change our every allegiance,
To bow at your feet,
And find sweet release.

To change when in want,
And help those in need,
To sow fields of great friendship,
And kneel silently.