TRESLAW

I want to be a spectator from the inside of a guitar.
 The vibration from the chords demands to be amazing.
 It all makes sense in a musically inclined line segment.
 Floating into the reflection of a bubble in a house of mirrors where every distorted facade is made relaxed.
 The real deal.
Every story beyond measures.
 A circular extreme super future.
 A note to be remembered.
Seeing red, whites  and blue but orange and browns are further.
An edgy, harmonic sense through the league of astral dimension.
The chords greet at first meeting.
Possibilities rise.
A twinkle a twang from the insane make those who live
on the outside sane,
To the root of the fruit the sky was seized.
A lullaby to a love tie.
Increasingly vibrant those plastic tombs of reason.
Find yourself in a spot transformed in endless, wilderness moss.
A taste of flavor.
Grooved levels.
Caving in.