Mood Shift Bleak wooden houses where autumn always stays. Still orange and red fog and a hammock under the twilight. Queer mist at sunset and fragrant air at dusk. Over cast clouds clear for the moon at night. A little bit jest were those in the forest. Waiting for the morning boomers to zoom by The loud psychotropic magic in the air Filled our ears and lifted us to a city in the sky. Above the rolling green hills and meadows. Through the gray sky to a place abroad Rhythmic bells and cheers thunder As the dairy maids rise to applaud. Tiny ceramic houses on tiny squares of fresh green lawns . Tiny shrubs and a dandelion patch Dreamy candy pink skies and gardens in the sun No one wears clothes that match. Late September night ships sail away. And old tear-stained men wave goodbye. They rock in their chairs all day and all night. Waiting the rest of their life for the rain to dry. But dawn returns over the pond and everyone smiles. Those joyful smiles of ages ago. The mist of morn returns And the early pipers glow. Bells of the past chime. Distant memories ring through the bright night dome. And loyal misfits bow their heads. To remember past times at their other home. We’ll always stay caught in the mundane middle. The only paradise we’ll ever find. Never to return to the bliss of yesterday. And tomorrow to stay locked in the mind. The mood shifts from time to time. Whether it be mellow or gloomy and sad Or psychotic and dark. It’ll always switch back to glad.
