I
Sing a song as we create the stars
under your comforting canvas of sky.
Drifting through cigarette oxygen,
influence that we're not above.
Revive and try to live within me
and love shall conquer, they said.
II
Amid the rotting and dead,
a foul aroma and silly process.
The mindful observer quietly sits
in the back of a noisy, cluttered room.
Taking notes and twisting the knife
right into the heart of conscious thought.
