This won’t make any sense, my bad…?
I hear it playing, reminds me of the club and the shades of smoky grey. The line between realities, I revel in the feeling now. There it is again, a flash of image sparkling along visionary lines. Taking me there, back. Like a rose found, plucked, and then left… burning the image is simple when revolt of the mind occurs. The brain supersedes the soul and revolution’s banner is raised. It plays a sad song, like a saxophonist on a warm evening. When the mood is right and the feet do dance, how they dance. Dusty floors meet sparkling ball rooms to cascade as fireworks in my mind. And still the music plays, that song… you.