I tie dyed those period stained sweats
The ones you wanted me to get rid of for so long
I tie dyed that white bathrobe I stole from the hotel
The King of Dreams is locked up
What's left to be impure?
Dirty linens in a pile
At least I'm honest now
It's not for lack of vision
Just the damn logistics of it all
But isn't music radiant?
Wraps the universe in math
Oil pastel heart again
Will the final layer be a masterpiece?