. . . its bout being tight . . . full of rules and traps . . . you bet you could’ve had some time to breath
. . . its more horrid . . . . as if the storms had been cursed on you . . . but then, the sun suddenly shines after the storms
. . . . you’re left stranded . . . with all the sunshine . . . its turns out to be a fatamorgana . . . leaving you with nothin to do
. . . . your eyes are open to dreams . . . but thunder ripts apart and unleashes a volley of possibilities
. . . going deeper inside, questioning the truths and deceits on what may have sprouted, straightening things up one at a time
. . . face the phase of new lights, that’ll then serve to speeding up the environment and pace round us
It’s all bout shifting gears, back and forth, kicking the throttle and brakes swiftly, while thinking what needs to be finished of first . . . . as you up and downs in seconds
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