[Intro] They told me the trip was color. A carnival behind the eyelids. A shortcut through the walls of the ordinary. [Verse 1] They said: take a little doorway, watch the ceiling turn to water, see a thousand-sided flower opening inside the dark. They said the colors would be crazy, fractals folding into fractals, strange sounds blooming out of silence, cool art burning through the heart. A beautiful light show, all spectacle, no questions asked— like the universe had rented somebody else's looking glass. [Chorus] But you missed the trip if you only saw the colors. You missed the quiet underneath. The deepest thing you saw was never something you could see. [Verse 2] I knew a man who watched a raindrop crawl the length of one green leaf. He waited for it to reach the garden, then forgot what made him wait. I knew a woman sitting softly, counting breaths beside the door. First she counted every thought, then she wasn't counting anymore. One thought left without a goodbye. The next one hadn't crossed the room. There was a space between them— not empty, not missing, just room. [Pre-Chorus] The mind stopped throwing stones into its own reflection. The water settled on its own. No answer had to enter. Nothing needed fixing. Nothing was alone. [Chorus] You missed the trip if you only saw the colors. You missed the silence underneath. The deepest thing you saw was never something you could see. [Verse 3] The ego loosened like a jacket left across the back of a chair. The border around the body became thinner than the air. I reached for you in stillness, not with fingers, not with speech. A thread of quiet light connected what I thought was yours and me. It ran from chest to chest, then room to room, then skin to sky. I tried to find the place you ended, but every answer crossed the line. [Bridge] Was it love, or God, or spirit? Was it Spark, or just the dawn? A little light inside the living recognizing its reflection in someone? Your breath entered the same morning. My breath answered without sound. The bridge became a thread, the thread became the ground. And somewhere in the middle, where no separate names could start, I could not tell if I was holding you or you were holding my heart. [Chorus] You missed the trip if you only saw the colors. You missed the stillness underneath. The deepest thing you saw was never something you could see. [Verse 4] Then the visions packed their suitcases. The fractals folded into walls. The strange music lost its doorway. The bright theater dimmed and stalled. I went back to wash a coffee cup, left a book beside the sink. The same old floor, the same old window, but I stayed long enough to think: Maybe peace is not a mountain. Maybe love is how you care when nobody is applauding, when the miracle looks like there. A neighbor needed carrying. A friend called from the rain. The sacred wore its work clothes and answered to a name. [Final Chorus] You missed the trip if you only saw the colors. They disappear; the care remains. The deepest thing you saw was never something you could see. [Outro] The room came back. The thoughts came back. My name came back and sat beside me. The ceiling was only a ceiling. The door was only a door. The world returned to ordinary, which was what it had been before. But one thing did not come back. One distance did not remain. I could find the edge of my body. I could say where I began. But I could not find the distance— not anymore— between us. — between us. [Chorus] But you missed the trip if you only saw the colors. You missed the quiet underneath. The deepest thing you saw was never something you could see. The room came back. The thoughts came back. My name returned and rested on my shoulders. I could still find the edge of my body. I could still tell your hands from mine. But the space between us was no longer empty. Something had crossed it. And when the colors left… it stayed. [soft pause] Maybe the trip was never where I went. Maybe it was what learned to come home with me.
