Here's your postcard from Paris
Does is somehow sing to you?
Living at face value is the death of true magic
Can you hear the concert in a word, have you
Listened for the whole universe in a deed?
Do you still remember that old vision that grew
Tragic? Take a last look before turning, a visit
To the sacred past, changes are forever, like
Missed opportunities, once burning, go from light
To dark to black

Hey old friend, can we still change the world? Or will
We go down beaten, bitter, oozing equivocation
like millions before, selling our young constitution for
soothing remuneration instead of choosing revolution
and hence the unfathomable, my friend, losing the
fortune of our higher evolution

There is a crazy warmth in giving to the undeserving, in
Letting your dome of purpose and path be impenetrable
And unswerving, but we can be trapped in the whirlwind,
and soon there is no looking back when shooting stars are
long forgotten going from light to dark to black

And as we travel to unknown shores, living at face value
Will be the death of true magic, sucking the fucking nectar
Out of our epic adventures, like poetry-vampire whores,
Glorious atomic youth sets in a a darkening sky, but will we
Succumb to the whirlwind, my friend, and will the music
Grow faint like the light in the eye of a dying saint?