Unbeknownst, the winds of change blew right into our face.
Tunes that resonate with the symphony of a forgotten freedom.
A freedom devoid of inhibitions, like the crude essence of wild strawberry tales.
Slurp the juice, spill it on the sleeve. And our soiled shirts- becomes a Rorschach reveal.
Did this ebbing into the wild quench our merely thirst?
Or is this a parchedness that doesn’t leave until our sweet tooth is satisfied?
Lips and dainty fingers now become dirty crimson red.
And thirty seconds until we recede uncoordinated out of our dreams.
Static- we have become and yet our vibrant multitone dreams breathe the winds of freedom for our sake.