Lost horizons

This had me going around in circles for a while until I broke the code and then it paid out all sorts of secrets...

I am breaking down at last into the bushes and the dust, all my secrets coming through; my death revealed to take me home.
This moment then, I will play one more song, and forget everything.
A silent pipsqueak from the side lines was singing nursery rhymes in tune to the daffodils growing and was coming up quite nicely thank you very much when a cry came of dissatisfaction that could be heard from far away.
A gorilla with a very nasty haircut broke into this story and floundered around looking for something, but on not finding a thing began to look sideways at me.

A high speed hit chase dialling home became apparent in the yes inside and without further cause, sneezed away into the lost horizons that await us all.
This was when a painter called around to see if I was well and did I want the house painted.
I let her in under her disguise until I was most truly beguiled, and called her Julia for short until her name came to sound me into heaven where I would rise.
When dinner time came I ran out for a bag of chips and a turn around the town and became so totally lost, I ran out of wind and had to lie down like it was the end of things.

3 of the clock came and went like some raging emperor tearing after his escaping fiftieth wife with a gleam in his eye.
Yes, even I was amused.
When the rifle brigade (of my thoughts) stopped stabbing me for a moment I slunk off into the bushes to hide
Guess who I came across?
No it wasn’t the lost master.
I know: lost horizons.
That one gets a biscuit, I said, and the rest of you have to go to bed early and give me just one good night of sleep; for the love of god, please let me sleep.
The next moment I looked around myself to see if I was still here.
We aim to please, said the voice of the radio coming over just nicely in my blues where the microphone was fading away in front of me just like some summer I would never remember again.

The sweet demand of my life would not let me go. But the romance wasn’t working as I would have it, I thought, until I ran around in ever bigger circles that caused waves to flow outwards, demanding how I would have it until I couldn’t stand it anymore and just had to blow out the candle and climb back into bed.
As I glided along the moonstones back into Monday to take up my place in the machine, I began to feel funny strange, like Friday night was a long way off and before I could get to it I had to pay a huge price and blow up many balloons until I was all worn out.

By whose definition dear one did you find that?
And now I hear voices coming at me as if from some mechanical machine that has a heart of gold.

Oh, no, we do not have a heart of gold; we are made of the wind that blows down into the deep mine of your story to share it with however many can see you for what you are worth.
How much is that worth before the tax man gets his share then?
Oh, you know, maybe an elevator ride to the surface.
I’m not sure if this is a group discussion here, but I just have to warn you, that if you’re not down by six you’ll miss your breakfast.
Thank you kindly, ladies and gentlemen, this has been the pastiche of many hours under the moon howling.
And now I must wrest this thing away into the lost horizons to begin anew, that I am sure will entice you to enter more into this thing that has no ending…until we meet again…

Images from Pixabay