The sky’s the limit - preposterous notion, if you ask me.
What is there to reach in space?
The blank canvas is here in this god-forsaken, uncertainty-shaken place.
The paint to fill this picture flows deeper than the rhythmic thumping of your monochrome veins -
If you just tune in you’ll swing all-out of your syncopated brainwaves.
They may beat to you alone...
Your thoughts may flow, bound, roll, thump, jump, leap out of your trembling mouth,
Shaken by the weight of all that is you.
They may be viscous, precious, futile, irresponsible, irresistible,
But what don’t you have to gain from scarfing down what inhibits you?
Exhibit yourself for yourself to admire.
Scrawl the language of your mind on the pages of your sanity:
All the 2 AM worlds of your personal reality, and the 2 PM, pocketed moments of time.
The sky’s the limit - preposterous notion if you ask me.
Because where the stars pierce the roof of space,
Is where your thoughts go beyond the velvet cloak of night,
And to your personal infinity.