the alchemy in the drops of smoke and solidity is the mixture of the dream
for i have not dreamed, except that it flowed through me to where it needed go
i feel the burning of time passing, creation a phoenix each second’s tick
o protector who guides me on my path, let me not think you turn away lightly
the moonlight pale sings solemn the tune of measured light, of distant hope
the numbers conspire to be ordinary, hiding the flows of fate
the many visions of God each hide the depths, show only the surfaces
suddenly everything is so very small, the very concepts inconsequential
i shall ponder the quiet while i am in the middle of the wasteland
i return to the smoke where the phoenix in ashes readies to rise again
o protector who guides me on my path, i become the fire that burned the bush
and the voice that said this is holy ground: i climb the words to heaven
