See that place over there, yeah, of vile plethora
There he sits in a holy aura
Expanding his lungs while closing his eyes
Slowly breathing in and out, the smoky 'spies'.
Yes the 'spies'; they keep a watch on his blood
And quietly diffuse in it as they flood
With molecules frolicking in his enchanted brain
And the mind hiding behind his flowing mane.
While the spies chase his platelets to infect
Their paranormal attacks have begun the quest
For finding the essence of his fallen trance
There, he 's got up forcing his mane to dance.
The truth lay in those evanescent fumes
Whose mysticism emerged from the transcendental tunes
Buoyed by adhesion of the spiritual cohesion
Enlightened by his mind and soul fusion.
It's a synaethesia for him, as the spies travel
Like the bell tolls in symphony and they unravel
To conquer over his madding body
And create a focal point for an elevated rhapsody.
His reflection cries while he rejoices
But he can clearly hear the unheard voices
Of his chained psyche and the pre-conscious mind
Perceiving the rays that are being so kind.
He wears an orange garment, not so dim
As if the mind cared for the apparent him
His eyes have rolled back and he lingers in this phase
Lost somewhere and unwilling to analyze his present state.
Past tends to the present, a delay in perception
But he's submerged himself against the undulate reception
He's all set to govern the limitless time
For an eternal bliss never needed a man-made chime...
