Now in my journal stage decorated with intention
The stage is obviously literally falling apart
A rose is a rose is a rose is a cigarette
The stage is now decorated with cigarette smoke
From a hundred no from thousand miles in synchrony
This is a free cigarette, my mother river smoked
Dreamin' to, to a be rose
But too far to a be rose
I was singing in my room
She smoked on the balcony
Long inhales and long exhales
Formed in choreography
Overall a dead-end town
Smoke moving delicately
Dreaming of the summer wave
Like a real body
To be a rose
But too far to be a rose
Music travels, dressed in haze and dressed as sun
If you didn't get it, if you didn't get it
And so I dress in the stage, the microphone
The flower bed underneath this curtain of calling
Follow me flower instead
Give me a rose
Too far to be a rose
