Whats left on the mind when the smoke clear.

Lonely roads, leading to nothing but awesome highs, that slowly start to fade away
along with the fevering numbers of the population soon leading from huge groups to
slowing numbers of none, but one.
Dragging the world under the pain, hiding it above the sky, threw the river of flowing
liquor that only brings you higher and higher to the stoner's haven, the clouds of smoke
fogging the eyes of the viewer, not much to do now but wait for the straight flat air to
cleanses the way, so the fall could last that much longer, back to the numbers of hidden
colors of the eyes, back to the only thing left on the mind, the number, the color,and
the thought...of one.