No flow of information No pattern recognition Underneath the blackened stars The purple dawn of the past is ours Colors wash white as the light starts Breaking us down to our base parts Spectrum flash like a rheostat Remote beams sweep telepathic maps
Communion Communion
I still hear a crazy wind in my head Don't know if I'm alive or dead I still hear a song that drugs my soul Like a poison that works soft and slow But I feel the breeze, the leaves breathe The spirits seeks communion The stars sway, the moon swoons The spirits seeks communion