Three

As clubs weave through the static air,
He listens.
They bounce in glee,
they fly in random.
just like soft thoughts of a troubled mind.

As the world closes in on polymphonic spree,
time stops and Angels sing.

A man stands by to watch.
he hears no rhythm and he sees no sense,
but he understands.
he doesn't know, and yet he does.

Like soft thoughts of a troubled mind,
we are all the same.