Drowning in an ocean of liquid fruits. A sweet seduction consumes the soul.
Loosening the chains in transitional progress. Subtly sticky and heavily free it resounds.
Still the chains have an obvious bound. Critically thinking of a way out.
As a adolescent it began, one link at a time. Through years of erosion some are broken.
Some are added too, don't be fooled. It's no easy game, not simply played by a fool.
Uncalculated effects are pure freedom, bound to be labeled as brilliant plans.
Linkage isn't pure, but it is a pure route to discovery. Symbols are a key to the door of free reality.
The chain has shortened making for an easy way out. A taste of freedom abounds.
Everything makes sense as nothing, but nothing is everything.
Nothing is a symbolic gold mine.
For amongst nothing abides the hidden treasure. Maybe...
The hidden treasure lies inside.
A contained liquid. It leaks at the seams.
What to fill it with is filled with dreams.
These dreams are a tease of the freedom to come.
A peak into the future is really a hint for the undone.
Transition. Transition. Transition. Transition.
Where do the boundaries lie?
The fog is clearing.