The red mist is the devil to the wise man's peace.
His reasoning and patience, his calm and his toughts.
For such storms explodes and fires lighting strikes
That are purposeful to sabotage, good reasoning
I have sat with sage too many times to have forgotten what he looks like.
But sometimes I just walk past in a hurry with such speeds
In search of him, when it matters most
Watching a fish drown in its own habitat
Today I found my medicine after yesterday's red mist
We are wise, yes indeed we are, the world knows we are
But foolish at the edges where stitches that hold our strings together become undone
Sage warned me about this, he said he experienced it himself
That to all wise men, be careful of the red mist.
It is the devil to a wise man's peace
It is the devil to a wise man's peace.