Pilgrimage [Festival, Part III]

Pilgrimage [Festival, Part III]

A pilgrimage to places new
Far from here... now
Pastures green with traces few
… what faces fresh allow

Calling to be found and fixed
Crawling, cross the floor
Counting on the music mixed
When beats hit, dropped in scores

With ghosts on the periphery,
and phantoms on the plains
A hostess high, a missionary,
an Angel's drift remains

and though I know it to be true
Strong falsehoods march in time
Still it's hard to break on through
With Static on the line

Somewhere, somewhat disorganised
So hot... so chilled, unplanned
With footsteps cool as advertised
… a peace I understand

A night alone, impossible
A chance, million to one
A weekend spent, improbable
A new place now to run

I wish I could have found you there
That sea of beats and noise
An ocean full of faces fair
Lost girls and broken boys

A pilgrimage, a whirlwind stole
Pitched bell tents... Emerald... Oz,
with yellow roads and rabbit holes
… but what a fall it was