There is music in ions
And sound in the snow,
that goes around when my foot enters a thin layer of ice.
It's spiralling in the wind,
the sun is a low voice,
my coffee is brown
it's a party in hell
I sit in the last car of the people
that went to the funeral,
it's the barbiecamper
where we say: see you later.
Where we see the curtains moving,
where the wind blows the smell of flowers.
I took a nap in broad daylight.
People where singing all the time,
they pointed at the paint in a closet.
I wanted to sleep trough the day into the night.
Sunday is the last day,
that remembers at lost times.
The day people die,
but when I close my eyes,
I see the music in the ions
the party in the molecules.
The level of the microcosmos
that contains the key to all grand things.
Lady birds are flying on a graveyard
A girl feeds the butterflies with honey.
There are no little bugs, there is no dark in hell. Blood is orange lemonade.
And when the image of smelly dead body's popup, i think about the music in the ions.
Bout strawberry's and sheeps on a green landscape. The white warm whool that warms me.
There is no end. Only beginnings, and new changes and starting overs.
Let's stop the time for a moment,
when things moves to fast.
For a moment,
a second in time,
a minute from eternity
Let spring stop the time, and winter open up the lock of growing love in trees.
There is a potion, and it's somewhere in my heart.
It stands hidden behind the scream of the soul. It contains a bubble of time.
In a straight line to the brain it plays with how it used to be, how it is remembered, and how it will be.
A horse says hi to me. When I walked in the forest he asked me if I wanted to ride his back. I opened the gate jumped on his back and we went to the beach.
There we saw the sunset.
The salty taste on my lips played tricks.
Suddenly I was on a graveyard. Dark and cold. Bats where flying around. Ghosts where hunting and looking for rest. In the darkblue sky I walked to a little fountain. In the broken mirror next to it, i saw the red scarves on my face. I laughed about the strange music on the background, like something bad was gonna happen.
But what could be worse than being on a graveyard in the middle of the night, hearing scary sounds. So the laughter made it all go away, and I was laying in my bed again.
The only thing that remembered me about this strange adventure was the snow in july.
The next attempt to get some grip on time, where the black poppies I drawed.
There is music in ions. There is time in the paint in my closet. Fingers write, and push buttons, therefore there are myths.
Therefore things will not be forgetten, although the mind plays tricks. Experiences will be nothing more than something that was.
Although the rain can makes me cold at a sunny day, it snows.
It snows, and there are bottles filled with water. They all make different sounds.
There is music in ions,
sound in water
and I screammmmm when I want to.
Tommorow I will enter a church and put on a candle,
in the whole town there will not be 1 balloon in store.
They all will fly in the air on a grave. Little notes attached to it.
So let the demons be warned.
It's a party in hell.
