Weak thoughts are like a mask,
That cover up the lies,
Simple facts are distorted,
And never will be supplied.
Turn on the switch,
And finally get it going,
You know it's been so long now,
Since a good light has been glowing.
I might be getting deeper,
Like the oceans and the great seas,
Cold and blue colored secrets,
Trying to reveal themselves to me.
The color of the brain,
Is really not what matters,
Because the color of the brain,
Is made of gray matter.
It's like a soft, wrinkled walnut,
That's inside all of our heads,
But be careful not to crack it,
Or it might just break instead.
Remember the smooth melting corners,
Inside the space of the abstract mind,
No longer considered a square,
But a new truth to all mankind.
©1999-2021 Steve Bujanow