The smooth scent of the horizon fills the room
exotic animals run around the passage with no intention what so ever
the slow breeze warms the cheeks of children in the courtyard
I glance at the ticking clock finding myself “noplace” at suppertime
I feel the hunger arise in my digestive organs but do nothing about it
when watching the dried up canals I get a feeling of gone well-being
the people left poor and dirty in their primitive bungalows
smiling and weeping on any given event of the humid day
who am I to trust in this madness of shabby, rolling images

I get restless, cold sweat, cold feat, and a silence of rumble
The inside-doctor turns of the idiot-box while rolling his joint
my padded world seems more dull and sterile moment to moment
the vigorous bore reminds my of other times, and better ones
The absurd beauty of escaping every situation perches on my shoulders
everything seems to shine outside of the walls, the leather, the sterility
I open my eyes and see… realize it’s all parts of the same asylum
the walls are just bigger, more colorful and velvet padded
the doctor will still follow his patient, from one ward to the other.