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.