A Purple Painted Glass Vail

Oh, how the wind blows, from the north to the east
oh, how the clouds move beyound the window cell
Looking at the way in which the colors interact
from the reflection of the window
as I see the sky turn into colors from
the reflection of the glass.

Where my thoughts became a dream
where the ideas of math become so what of
in a physical mentality of contraceptions
where did we fall off?

To the perception of pain of my eye lids
to be gazing at the sun
the idealistic boundaries of confusion
came back to the middle-east, as someone sang a song.

Wishing for tomorrow, wishing the day to end
Can we take the dreams of a childhood memory
and make them become our friend?