Scud

The filmprojector starts:
our awareness, our imagination
The final countdown starts
in our chest: our heart
This space seems real
this time seems real
Just as in a film
illusions can be experienced

Our body like a screen
between two worlds
Our life and existence
its only a narcotic slumber
We're not suns and moons
we're comets: never stopping
No galaxy is called our home
Our joy is found in falling, hoping

Clouds float without course
The Sky knows their reason
Fly high enough and you can see
Look far beyond the horizon