There was a time when I saw her visage within the clouded drunken paranoia of the colonel,
When I heard her voice, affirming, harmony emerges above his anxiety
And her dark smile, behind the blinding fear of his nuclear bomb.
There was a moment when I found love in oblivion,
Oblivion love beyond the god of matter.
Yet, embracing paradox, returned to his strict tarot,
And dealt oblivion love games with the deck: and shouted down the voices of opposition, inner and outer.
There is a trap, there is escape, there is freedom.
But what does freedom taste like?
What’s it taste like now?