The scenarios up my head,
Sometimes black; sometimes pink,
Sometimes red with specks of golden dust...
Walking past this wholesome breeze,
Moon reflecting it's grey white countenance,
On the sparkling flowing cold loch...
The wrinkled up dead pressed tree,
Depicts the entire lifetime of that one person,
With unforgotten, forged and mundane lacone soul...
The day ends with the horribly beautiful dead of night,
The sudden dreams starts to reappear,
This day's existence ... Is just mundane ...