She stood like my mother holding a newport cigarette
the fake smile of depression soaking everything wet
and my beams reflect the eyes of a ghost outside
My fogged breath, and the proof that I will die
And now I float above the air, United Airlines 747
I make realities; you are all 1-10, I am eleven
And the benadryl soaking my cells, coach class hell
Tripping the Atlantic, kingdoms in the clouds that swell
And as I dig at the insides of my weak guts
I am candlelit eternity introvert, drowning in love
And as I trip through my own catacombs I create inside
I find a static vision of you happily haunting me all my life
My eyes will be kept shut air tight, and my ears peaked
to hear all those frequencies laid out neat
And my past is NOTHING but mine
I'm teaching myself to travel time.
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