Stop to question satellites
|
Lost in vast expansions of space
|
Place it in fists
|
Finding more than we asked
|
For 'misconceptions' reflective
|
Glance into what we should have known "it was right there."
|
If you could have just flown by unnoticed, unchallenged
|
We would still have careless wonder left in our eyes
|
Now we just wait to see behind yours
|
Behind eyes these sidewalks twist and tremble
|
Under the new found failures
|
Swirls of red and gray mixtures of the brick inlay,
|
Tear the clouds
|
Bring on the rain
|
Watching faces fall everyday
|
Letting it wash them down
|
We never thought too little
|
Just not enough
|
So now back to present found at the tops of rock walls
|
Where the spires climb so tall
|
The wheat fields growing all to much importance of fate,
|
Of faith bridges collapse behind us
|
Leaving no way out
|
Still lost in thought
|
We find none of this bothersome not troubling whatsoever
|
Claim what's ours
|
The headlights ahead are in blinking confirmation
|
Offering reassurance we were right
|
Take it back down
|
This is me hanging from a nail,
|
Missing the broken frame
|
And burnt edges
|
Face cut out between two worlds,
|
The first so obviously surreal
|
And the other so lifelike yet so dead
|
And true
|
But which should we choose,
|
Holding our feet,
|
Building our cities
|
|
-----------------
|
Satellites in Fists
|
| Anatomy Of A Ghost |
