Veins pinned down by a stuttering mind,
Blood spills out, allways pumping in time,
Voices cry harmoniously,
The haunted sound of melancholy,
Then fast and furious, a glimmer of wisdom,
An epiphany, a lyrical mystery,
But like all things, the end comes too soon,
And all thats left behind is a vague memory,
Floating unconsious, a melody that glides,
A beat to the soul, hidden in our minds,
Never qiuete escaping, confined by reason,
Inspiration slides in this Mirage of rythm.
