In art we delve, like comforting salve;
It encompasses thought and encourages images
Of dragons and witches, pirates and princes,
Lyrics and licks at very high pitches, undoubtfully
a highly sensuous experience; at least that is
usually the general consensus.

In the flow we let ourselves go,
Imagining a vivid snow-capped plateau
With a lemon-yellow sun, and onyx crows
Feeling the cool wind as it blows
Through the feathers of onyx crows.

So surreal, it appeals to our ideals:
A world in which we wish was ever so real;
It instills these feelings of fullfillment,
Revealing our love for the world we've rent
And leave to ferment in utter torment.

So while we can, and whilst we may
We seek a haven to hide and stay away
And hence we find ourselves once again
At the beginning, reading to the end.

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