Chan

Ghost knight, playing Tolkienesque chords over common, white noise, I still hear you, cosmic brother, strumming the songs of pentagrams from your optical guitar, like that scene out of Star Wars, all were always welcome at your wild bar – interplanetary troubadours, euphoric warriors or a ninja geek incognito, a wistful rhymer who knew truth seldom whispers, love is the only real free-artistry, requiring no discipline, no perimeters, no limits and no definitions I still hear you, cosmic brother, so alive, streaming a high volume of colours, blue still holds a torch for you, loud and proud,red engulfs night without one regret, but its your delicate gold, my friend, I can never forget