Bliss, pure bliss!
In the imaginary tunnels of a utopia
I find bliss.
All colours of a euphoric dream,
With the lingering smell of burning steam.
I smile for a while,
Before I hide for a time.
The world in grey is a curse of the times,
We didn’t realise when we heard the last chime.
I now walk in a steaming tunnel,
Carrying the memories of a healing oracle,
distinguishing the real from the unreal
between the wheel and the blue ciel.
Lord! I hate the real! A world so cruel!
I’d rather be at the river,
drinking the ambrosia of an imaginary heaven.
