New cycles begin with post-it notes and a few feet of this rope
We are all addicted to her dope and its inspiration although it’s unknown
That she barely excites us with her presences, for she is hardly shown
I want to dance the night away with her; reaping any benefits sown
So I use my words to conjure ancient history within a blur
She remains a mystery, kept deep inside my dreams for sure
But for her to stir up all the time lines that exist in in our eyes
Watching us all fall down, only to lift us up again as our only guide

You attempt to grab her by the throat to choke the secrets out
For glories sake, what a waste of time to try and make her scream and shout
Without a doubt this is the wrong way, this is unfair play
Right now she’s in season, I know its treason but she’ll never stay
I’m begging to feel a reason, to feel the way that she sways
For she still portraits a life once lost, now fell of the page
Searching for your golden age, lifetime riddled with angst and rage
While she traps us all within her theoretical cage

Formless from designs intention, I format her into the female form
Yet, these ideas remain a standard conception among the norm
It’s a complicated situation to confront and command her storm
Because she does not choose you, you must be born outside her scorn
Her bodies worn, mangled rough, now feigns to mourn
And when she leaves she always takes the torn

Decipher the riddle and ask if we’re here to fight among this plight
Because on this night she will deplete you faster than the speed of light
Each of her words and whispers if slowly drawn out,
Will leave your brain blistering, and closer to answers for all things
We’re calculating infinity with our current connectivity
So sensibly, we bypass our bodies grasp to obtain her very first glance
Gentle and eager, simple in stance
No way to tell you how long this all could last

Inside us all are inner demons combined with electron legions
Swirling amassing lesions in the center of my soul **Use Echo On ‘Soul’
Now we may accept to create or to turn and face the music
Either way you choose it; Motivation or instigation; Imagination or concentration; Infatuation or saturation
Suddenly rigged for detonation so I relax my hand for separation, destined for this path, this is my life’s direction

Spark flash of light; brightly bursting and thirsting for sight
My eyes adjust I can see through the dark, and I am now equipped
To search and find my mark
Finally! The muse has arrived to help me start
Creative focus that is more correct, shapes and symbols now add up
Pictures become coherent as I’m hoping to move forward with a little luck
Provided all through time, for artists that are destined not to suck
Without her inspiration you’re just plain stuck