It springs from the third eye.
Bidding our entity a firm good bye.
There is no girl in this, nor a guy.
It’s all about an energy, soul and a lie.
Life is a lie, death is truth in my
truce. I like my pie
as of now, devoid of a sigh.
It’s going to be a tie
I know between life and dying highs.
One day as I sit alone and repeat aye-aye.
Death will be lovely but life is no less a fly.
As I fly high often leaving behind the deathly sly
death soaring, flying, dreaming joys to cry.