Oh blood, the life force that doth flow,
Invisible rivers that run below,
A crimson tide that feeds the heart,
A surreal canvas, a work of art.
The essence of life, the essence of death,
Bound together in a surrealistic breath,
A dance of light and shadow in the veins,
A surreal world where love and loss reigns.
In this surreal realm, where beauty lies,
And reality is often disguised,
Blood becomes a symbol of love and strife,
A dreamlike essence that gives us life.
For in the flow of every heart,
Is a surreal beauty that sets us apart,
A crimson thread that connects us all,
And leads us through this surrealistic ball.
So let us embrace this surrealistic flow,
And the beauty of the blood that we know,
For in its rhythm, we find our beat,
And the surrealistic dance that makes us complete.
:: 03.09.2023 ::