From my aged chair I see
curtains, diffuse, blowing, and glowing,
the window stands open.
And all the exits are black.

How can I lose when I’m flying?
How can I lose at all?

But when I’m asleep I am a sea,
calm and smiling in the dark, beneath the stars
not dark, but light as well,
dim lights, pure, dim
and there is no moon on the surface
of me,
but calm, and darkness is resting
in my palms.

Can you see the picture I’m producing in your head?
Can you see the picture?
The picture of me?
Can you see me?

Could you bear the sunlight rays of Garden Eden,
reflecting in the calmness of my eyes,
never going to ever back down,
the rays of the sun,
but drown in the depth of your curiosity?
Have you thought of suns and depth?
How they intertwine?
Entwine. Join. Rewind.

Have you ever thought of burning out,
not like candles, not like fires,
but barely like smoke, fading,
thin, thin, just thin
and fading?
Have you heard that smoking kills?
Smoke fades. Smoking kills.
I wonder.

I am the sea when I’m asleep,
and you are burning in my palms,
my dreaming pawn and pet and beloved love,
wasted by the smoke,
sinkin' in my depth,
death and life intertwine,
entwine, decline,
barely light, dim, and dark
and light,
with pity stars, and shiny cars
and lights
swimmin' in the silhouettes
of night.