The Travellers

So come, my lover, together we must fly,
For the sun never sets in an Eastern sky,
Take off as one, and free our souls again,
To go raise a little Hell on the Astral Plane.
Yeah, clasp tight my hand as our spirits fly,
If we get this perfected, we’re never going to die.

When they try to wake our bodies, stay close by me,
Pronounced DOA we’re most likely going to be,
And buried together, just redundant flesh and bone;
Laid to rest Eternal in the Gardens of Cold Stone.

We’ve got to leave these bodies to grow comatose and cold,
They were great in younger days but a burden now we’re old,
But the essence of our souls shows not the marks of age;
Forever prime in Astral form : to Rock and Roll and Rage.

So let’s make and break my love, just get clean away,
Far out beyond the Ether afore the light of day;
A fact we don’t need this material illusion anymore,
The Earth’s become a poisoned apple, rotten to the core.