The Fabric Of Time

The streets are all smelling of weed,
A cloudy head now is not what I need,
Searching my soul for the word, true indeed.
Deciphering hidden equations underground,
Lost civilisations are forever staying unfound,
Symbols are at the forefront and world renowned.
Some say each virus was made in a secret lab,
For main truths evening news don't want to gab.
Making a shot in the dark and a stab at cold air,
Through the fabric of time, I can see a huge tear.