Enlightenment's philosophers
sip sweetly on six-stringed Bliss,
elegant in their own right
they are the prophets of the night
the wise fools singing in a world of silence,
dancing in a culture of graceless stagnation
without good repute or Representation .

they are the hideaway artists
with their sly paint brushes,
child-like companionship,
and euphoric rushes .

music is their first language,
the second, the whispers of sensuality
the whistlings of free Expression
and the calls of the wide open road.

they can paint the sky orange
then blue again with their laughter
don't give much care to the hereafter,
they marry the muses
and slay the prince with words.

their hypnotic jazz
catches the world in a glass bottle
when these Philosophers of enlightenment
invade the Collective Consciousness .

behold the Psyren
as they show the world
the beauty in simplicity,
in six strings and electricity.