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Smoke Rings

At the end of the line, I’ll be looking down from where I’m about
Like, I promise at the end of times, I’ll be up in the clouds
Blowing in the air and making smoke rings, appearing scarce
But aspiring to shape the atmosphere into something inspiring
I promise, climbing the stairs, I’ll make ends with the stars

At the end of the line, I’ll be looking for the red sign
And at the end of the line, I’ll probably float down the river
Until we’re falling, like all banalities making life crawl
At the end of the light I won’t stall, I’ll be there to deliver
Any drop that could widen the perspective of the river‘s fall

At the end of the line, I’ll be flowing down the end of the line
Asking; where is the ending I was promised in the beginning?
A lot of promises never came true, but many lies did
It’s truthly piercing, and supposed to be strengthening
But rather tiring, say, wasn’t life supposed to be more than this?

At the end of the line, I won’t have enough, so can I get some time?
And at the end of the line, I’ll be absent, away to meet the future
Not because I’m looking forward to it, more like because of the now
Said, I’ll be gone with the fierce wind, blowing smoke rings
Dear Godness, I promise I’ll take you far, wherever you are...

© Martin Ångnell 2010 - 2017