Ana Pokora

Some Call it Cannabis 
It heals the soul, right?
Tampers your memory, doesn't seem so.

I can't control them, how they feel.
No way to prevent my emotions either
I bleed hesitation, I bleed drugs. 
I don't need it, I want it,
So, does that mean I need it?

Its my consultation, she understands me.
She's beautiful. They call her,
Poisonous.
But the wreath of my breath against hers,
it wakes me. 
She's beautiful, with her luscious red lips,
the green meadows that round her hips.
The spikes that makes any man bleed.

Happiness, she is my happiness.
She will always stay, until I light her away.
But leaves me in the zone, in control,
Zen.
I love you Mary Jane