The Truth is Out There

Sunny skies and perfect weather,
a playful wind blowing smoke in my face,
laughing in whispers in the air, with
violins playing far, far away,
and sorrow far away with them,
too obvious to be ignored, and yet
isolated because of its very nature,
offering a miserable sanctuary to those
not courageous enough to break free.

"Idiots, so ignorant... they'll
never know how nice it is out here."

Stuff you can only read in the city, stuff
only accessible to the wanderers and vagabonds, those
lovable, pitiable souls
in whom we see reflected our wildest sides...
to know freedom but no anchor, to
understand the workings of the outside, to
discover the truth of the outside... it's called
enlightenment.