Gravity has departed like a friend you once depended on
Now colours merge and burst and appear and disappear
Superstition was once a toy played with until it broke
Spirituality and philosophy little edges a rock climber can get his fingers into
Religions the stagnant dead lakes full of venemous serpents
Beds of nails on which astray minds have found sense and sensation
There´s no truth but the one you´re stuck with now
Rolling around in a womb a diamond fingered womb if any
Bouncing around in raptures so and so
Waiting to be born into something more real
there´s no balance and mystery has the upper hand
I´ll tickle your mind for a while
Stroke your desire for a paper machete world
Caress your need for a hard platform to stand on
There´s no balance as you reach for someone´s hand
Nenhum comentário:
Postar um comentário