I am a traveler.
A mystical being full of adventure and light and bones that creak.
I walk down windy paths
Down roads with no map
I am not lost, you see.
I just don't have a direction.
I'm too far gone to go back
Everything behind me is so bleak and dreary
I go forward into the melting colours of spontaneity and curiosity
drawing what I feel
And writing what I see.
It sounds switched, but I can't draw something that isn't real
And I can't write about anything that isn't imaginary.
My soul is bleak.
If you're looking for adventures
Maybe we can make a trade.
Give me a soul, your warmth and light.
And I will give you what it means to think you're free.
