This world has no place for genius. Artistry, love, beauty, creativity is warped and mangled like raw steel into financial gain and social profiteering. What happened to the traveling gypsies, the glee men and the circus A generation of lost souls is found in this mess of suits and ties and pumps marching head on like lemmings over the cliff to an end that is all too predictable. Education, Job, Marriage, Children, Retirement in Florida, and Death in a Mahogany Coffin 6 Feet Under with the Other Poor Souls trapped there with you. No, no, no. No sir, thats not me.
Me and Jimi re going up somewhere else, somewhere that the fairy tales come true and dreams are waking memories. Nah, I dont want a utopia, thats an illusion, man. I want magic. The third-star-on-the-right-and straight-on-until-morning censored that your mother packed into your head at night to shut you up and make you sleep. You didnt know it then but its only when you do sleep that you ever find this place. A few pockets of leftover magic from a time past and present in a parallel future all hidden in deep glorious caves of wonder guarded by flaming red swords and fake walls and Mr. SandMan's sleepy, dusty, night beams.
Creativity is just memories of a time, a place, a generation that wasnt lost in the briar patch of reality, a muck of modernity that we find ourselves in now. I guess Im just waiting for that next life to take me back, pull me free of this tar pit hell hole where a smile is a sneer and a friend is a foe. I pity those who dont realize the beauty of a soul smile, a child in her own world. In the sand box: they are they only ones who know how to get back to that place, but no one believes them.
Even I have trouble now. I get glimpses into the life I want to lead because its right but a c ravin deep inside tells me that theres more and Im just not looking hard enough, taping the wrong vein; startling myself awake from the wrong dream. I want to break out. I feel like Im just sitting out on life, just watching the silly people go by, on their silly missions. But I cant tell if Im just being lazy and waiting for something to happen or if Im dreaming a nightmare-ish existence in a Hell called Earth and when I do finally wake up again Ill be back where I belong. Click you heels three times, Dorothy and say, Theres no place like home, cause theres no place like home, cause theres no place like home.
Ill meet you there, I guess, cause Im not sure what time my trains coming in. And maybe, just maybe my place is real; but maybe its one thats just a little bit higher than your own.