I'd rather be away, alone
on the cusp of a silent sunrise
captured in the golden dawn
as frothing waves gnash grey
below the horizon's arching bow
than to be stunned and deafened,
clutching ringing ears to muffle
the heartless, hollow echo
of 10,000 vacant farewells.
It's better if you leave silent as a thief
packing every fleeting memory
you can stuff into your sleeve.
Because, when you go and say farewell,
it feels like you're departing into eternity.

A loom sits angled and precise
with my emotions as the thread
while you weave a tortured paradise
from my tangled warp and weft.

Don't think of me, babe.
Be righteous and free, babe.
Swim madly in love or in doubt.
I won't be around.
Never making a sound.
Not here, neither inside nor out.
If the past haunts you,
with sorrow it daunts you,
gather your soul as a scream or a shout.
In that new twilight,
the gleaming new sky light,
you'll understand what it's all about.

I came upon a river,
wide as the years spent to find it.

I took off my shoes,
to rest down beside it.

And as I stopped to think of  a way
to travel across these waters, some day,

my hair turned grey --
my flesh to dust.

And the river swept me away.

I became the boundless beauty
of water flowing free;

from high atop the mountain peak,
to the broad expanse of open sea.

I looked to my sides,
and what did I see?

I found myself, just as before,
already standing on the other shore.

The past answered back
in the form of flickering
images evolving in time.

I saw each of them as children,
before they ever had to work
or make it big out in the world.

I saw each of them as mothers,
the gentle curve of a smile
beaming into the eyes of a child.

I saw bones form from nothing,
wrapped in muscles, skin
and rippling emanations.

I felt the startling disconnection
of my mental projections
and healthy, natural directions.

I felt a subducting sensation,
coupled with crawling anticipation
as I glimpsed the essence of creation.

Here is where I take my stand,
to fix the things I misunderstand.
It's time the true work began.

I've slipped in the trip
of another;
these walls ain't
lookin' the same.

I've slipped in the trip
of another;
it's not me
in my brain.

She crawled inside
and made me think
that my pride
wouldn't make me weak.
Now she gloats
and claims it's love,
but **** that floats
will still rise above.

I've slipped in the trip
of another;
I can't tell
if it's real.

I've slipped in the trip
of another;
I'm not sure
how to feel.

She said things
to make me blush
and when we touched
it was quite the rush.
Now I fear
that when she's near
I really would
like to disappear.

I've slipped in the trip
of another;
how could this
happen to me?

I've slipped in the trip
of another;
why couldn't I
let it be?

She did things
to break my mind
then she'd go
and say it's fine.
She did things
to break my heart.
Ill-intent
from the very start.

Violet, blue, and white
spiraling from your brow.
Cascades of liquid light
permeating here and now.

Your name! Your name!
Exalted mantra on my lips.
Your name! Your name!
Elegant lightning to my fingertips.

My heart recklessly accelerates
through sorrow's frozen wall,
and I would like to celebrate --
we've no time to stutter or stall!

I was on the hilltop, glancing;
I fell when you gave your shove.
It's alright, 'cause now I'm dancing.
Dancing in the clear light of love.

I never could count backward from infinity, the concept of eternity casually eluded me on a silver-back horse holding reins on the floods of organized cacophonies speaking louder than the silent ones. To the silent ones with frozen mouths caught quivering, consumed in doubt: don't let the symphonies of simple minds convince you that you shouldn't try. Forget these medieval magicians bending spoons with indecision -- they're just jesters sharing feasts with crooked beasts, swept up in the tide of disappearing time like rivers ripping rightly through the earth to an oceanic expanse of karma-laced incidents. I can  tell which moments are meant to be, scripted in the folds of destiny by the way space crackles opalescently then glows and ripples incessantly. The ancients knew the riddle, and wrote the verse in broken words.

Do what you can
or get out the way.
But don't lend your hand
if you can't take the weight.

With a wave of my pen I morph cobras into locusts as the myriad creatures shift out of focus. I surf a million empty channels on the wings of a prayer before I get fed up and vaporize into molecules of air. Then I suffer through the turbulence of empty-headed, vacant eyes and twist among the falling leaves to the palace of the sky. But who am I? I'm the archer tripping ******* the flaming arrows of Apollo. I'm the soldier who finds no joy in the enemies I've slaughtered. I'm the passion for the precipice and the thrill of falling of this. I'm half of a tenth of a femtosecond from leaping off these rafters with no real concern for what may happen to me after. I'm waking up at 2 a.m. from fevered dreams of mushroom stems as the room shifts black and blue and everything's illumined with the wisdom of the moon. I would rather be a de-fanged monster rolling in a ditch, fantasizing about facets on the gem of Might-Have-Been, starving for nutrition and the comforts of a friend, dying from this fatal case of gut rot than parade around with people pretending to be something that I'm not.

So you think yourself a prince alight with fire,
dynamic in your expression of unlimited creation?
But what of the fear and obstacles rising perpetually
because of your unskillful means and application?
What if your timing is off by a moment
and impatience leads to more than one undoing?
Recognize that you're uneasy. How you long to be free from
unfairly mounting regrets or mourning!
Your current approach relies too much on will-power alone;
find another way, as will-power alone is not enough.
Undam the waters of life; go deep within and seek the light.
The world is beckoning, waiting patiently for you to realize
that you are never not becoming; you will always be renewed.
Seek the Truth, without clinging to the sensation of discovering truth.
Seek the Love, without clinging to the sensation of realizing that love.
Seek the Joy, without confusing intensity for a thing's reality.

You wish for changes and emotional revolutions,
to cast aside old worn-out thoughts and constitutions.
You wish to master your psychological well-being,
tactfully blending your intelligence and imagination.
But what about the path you thought you were still on?
Do you fear you may collapse during essential maturation?
Know that you don't know where your going.
You are out of touch with reality -- place things in proper perspective!
Don't delay the inevitable cycling of completion
if you would desire your hopes to come to fruition.
Seek stability in your home, and nurturing connections.
Learn to trust and ground your feelings in satisfaction.

The two choices stand before you; but which one will you choose?
The outer path of material unfolding is easily observed.
The inner path of contemplation is a little more reserved.
You can search for it, ask for it, or even knock right on the door,
but you can never open the door, through excessive use of force.
If you sit patiently, showing all the virtue that you've practiced --
if you have the courage to dare to ask the difficult questions;
if you have the will to seek the uncomfortable revelations;
if you have the persistence to remain silent long enough to know --
then the door will open for you, without the slightest hesitation.

He said
"your mind is numb"
in his low,
concise rumbling.

"Open your heart,
your mind.
Really start to feel."
His long, black hair
fell to mid-back.

"The blessings are
offered to all sentient beings.
But you must be open
to accept and feel them.

There are four precious
attributes to first be developed:
honesty, humility, kindness and purity.

Do not lie,
nor boast and brag.
Help all beings
and view the world
as dependent origination."

He smiled and laughed gently.
"Carefully cultivate,
awaken from the numbness,
and develop those you meet."

There go the winds,
tumbling out my sails,
leaving me alone and stranded
where intention often fails.

There go the winds,
blowing down the road,
leaving me alone to contemplate
the lessons I've ignored.

There go the winds,
disappearing like a friend,
stealing away that confidence
and that wish-fulfilling grin.

What did you whisper in the morning?
Was it the cursed introduction to a tale
written in the dialect of mourning,
where dreams and satisfaction fail?

What were you singing in the evening?
Was it a prelude to the ballad of the time
that threads unwound with confusion weaving
between chiseled cracks and faded rhyme?

What did the mountain echo to you?
Was it exactly what you wanted to hear,
did you find the timbre shifted blue,
watching all the texture disappear?

What did you dream of while sleeping?
Was it a prophetic message from the spirits,
a promise offered in protection and safe-keeping
or malevolent magic disguised as lyrics?

There she was sitting at the foot of my bed,
floating out words like a gun to my head:

"Everything you do's based on pride.
All that you say is a lie.

Everything you think you can hide
is made clear in the light."

Oh, I sat and stared her right in the eye.
I went right for her heart and said: "I am alive

but what about you?

Say what you want about the day and the night,
keep those words coming, 'cause they sure sound nice.

Everything you say to me
is empty philosophy.

You and I will never agree,
and that's a prophecy.

I'm sick of all your **** and I think that it's time.
I've gotta let you know, babe, I'm feeling fine

but what about you?

I'm doing what I can to be more I was.
You're limping on a crutch made of "because."

When you finally hear what I say,
I'll have gone far away.

I clearly have no reason to stay,
so I'm leaving today.

I'm heading for the shore, to cast out to sea.
I'm leaving you behind and I'm gunna be free,

but what about you?"

She said it was forever
and that I surely knew.

Though we spent a lifetime together,
far apart we grew.

Now the peak has passed,
gone beyond the plateau.

A grand descent back down to earth
is all my heart could do.

She's left me feeling altered.
She's left me here askew.

She's left me here to ponder
what I thought I knew.

In the beginning, nothing to know or behold.
Ignorant to all forms, to all words being told.
I exist, I exist! I'm not everything else.
Throughout eternity, I'll have only myself.

I'll apply energy to create new conditions,
and cause ripples and waves with distraught intentions.
From a "this," another "that"
and the polar play will distract.

From the two, another, awareness of faculties.
Nose to smell, tongue to taste, eyes to see.
Ear to hear, skin to feel, and mind to think.
Consciousness with an ego standing on the brink.

From the conscious fields, the earth starts to rise.
Water flows through being; fire keeps it alive.
Wind, vital wind, blows great energy around.
I think I'll call myself "ME." Yes, it has a certain sound.

From the elements, my corporeal form starts to dance.
With various appendages to keeping me entranced.
Eyes, ears, nose, tongue, my body and my mind.
Oh-**! Who knows what secrets I may find?

Ah, at last, the external world and I contact!
Who'd've thought that there'd be much in that?
Awareness and otherness meeting for a moment.
Before a strange sensation -- now I start to plummet.

I think I'm sad. There's cloth on me. I smell something astringent.
I see a bright light. Sounds all around. What tastes are contingent?
I didn't bargain for sensations that flicker up now.
I'd take it all back, if I only knew how.

A welling within! I crave food and deep loving.
Only want pleasant forms, otherwise I'll take nothing.
I want good music, beautiful things to observe.
But these forms in my mind, I think I'll conserve.

I'll repeat all sensations that are pleasant
and continue this practice and never regret it.
My Self is a thing, perpetually flowing.
I'll live forever; I'll never stop growing.

Forever happens much sooner than planned.
Every year I get older, I get sick and feel shammed.
How could this happen? I was so fit in my prime.
On my deathbed with my pleasures, I've wasted my time.

Through a strange landscape, I'm stripped of my Self.
Alone, all alone, with nowhere to turn to for help.
But there is a return to this world, once again,
to the beginning with nothing to know or behold.

All these slip-stream silk canopies unfurling out at last keep the interchanging threads tangled in the past. It doesn't matter what I lose in the search to find my Self amid cacophonous raucousness and distractions from consciousness. When the flowers fully bloom, bearing fruit too ripe to wait, and a secondary sight sends me right into the zone, I'll walk the path the ancients tread and follow my voice back home. Sing me a song in medicine tongues, as serpents' illusions hiss from my lungs. Knowing how the angels' trumpets' wail and mourn the loss of prosperity hidden on the shore I'll listen, still reeling from the stars in my head, to the bliss that is waiting for "mine" to lie dead.

Waves of liquid summer
cascading through the wall
as your twisted voices simmer
threading tendrils in my skull
and stuttered frames of halted scenes
come skipping as co-pilot of my dreams.

Waiting for the rays of light
to pierce the window pane.
When it goes alright
how could I complain?

Still I wait.

Watching all the raindrops fall
in puddles on the lawn.
Thinking that if I could crawl
I'd be moving on.

Still I wait.

Listening for the sound of shoes
to scuffle through the door.
If I was who you choose,
I couldn't ask for more.

Still I wait.

Feeling like a frozen man
carved out of stone,
one who truly understands
what it is to be alone.

Still I wait.

Another day gone in the blink of an eye.
I'm feeling confused, but don't really know why.
So I do what I can
just to get by.

And the sun silhouettes those fading trees.

I spend most my time up in my mind,
not really concerned with the things I may find.
I open my heart,
let it all unwind.

And the sun silhouettes those fading trees.

I'm going through life with my eyes open wide,
trying to find a good reason to try
when you're too old to quit,
but too young to die.

And the sun silhouettes those fading trees.

I train all my thoughts up to the sky,
aim to dissect The Truth from The Lie;
but could it be:
the best is passing me by?

And the sun silhouettes those fading trees

When day or night collide with frantic circumstance,
I'm left to pick the pieces up of sacrificed romance.
Could it be that I'm the unlucky one with nowhere left to stay?
Though I'm not pining for the moments that I passed along the way,
or the shades of broken people that are too afraid to heal.
They've left their hope behind, dressed in threads unreal.
Their heavy hallowed hearts are covered and still too far behind
and burdens burn their words when they lie and say they're fine.
Still, beauty spins from every fragment ruptured from their skin
as eyes and teeth twist together in a whirlwind of a grin.
I'm trying to be a full person, from my hair down to my feet
and stare down every obstacle while beaming from my seat.
For fortune has no favor, and I have no power to make it sway.
There's nothing you can do for me but close your eyes and pray.

I left, again, on the next step for my path.
Where I find myself now makes me look back.
Do I regret everyone I've lost on my way?
I won't know 'til the end of these days.

But the new place I'm at is enough to think about:

He's divorced, his wife took the kids.
He drinks and regrets what he never did.
His laugh is like thunder, distant and looming;
his voice's like his television: obscene and booming.

The other man is older, he lives in the study
watches television all day 'til his eyes become ******.
He belittles himself, and has lost the will to live.
If only I could teach him the power to forgive.

I learned he lost his wife and daughter.
One to cancer, the other manslaughter.
Now he drinks from noon 'til morning,
and chain smokes without learning.

But as I stay awake in the evening,
listening to their drunken speaking
I wonder, to myself, rather than deplore:
is this what my life will have in store?

You're in the belly of the beast
but don't let it get you down.
You're in the belly of the beast
and no one can see you frown.

See how they look at you?
They'll try to ***** you in.
Is there anything you can do
to make it out again?

You're in the belly of the beast,
try not to make a sound.
You're in the belly of the beast,
but soon you will be found.

Hear how they laugh at you,
they'll fill you up with doubt.
But don't forget what they hold true
is something you can laugh about.

You're in the belly of the beast,
but don't let your spirit fall.
You're in the belly of the beast,
listen for your call.

I'm gunna walk on down the road.
Lace my shoes and I'll be gone.
I'll let the wind blow through my hair
and my steps play a gravel drum
as my thoughts merge with the air.
With ethereal feet I'll move on by,
past the cities and the towns.
I'll find a quiet place to sit and try
to fill the space that gets me down.
When the sun is setting slowly
turning the sky into an amber dome
I'll think of all my friends and family
urging me to come back home.

I'll turn and walk the other way
through the valleys of the night
and let the stars be my reflection
as I wander through the pines.
The evening's chorus is different
but the song remains the same
as I wind back through the cities,
through the alleys and the lanes.
When I meet that gravel path again
I'll know I've finally made it home.
I'll see my family and friends,
and know there's no need to be alone.

Should we land on the same branch,
turn and caw my way.
I'll acknowledge our comradery
before you leave to chase the day.
I'll be the music of the birds,
a hidden meter lacking rhyme,
as you play the midnight raven
wheeling circles in the sky.
In the quiet of the evening
when all is calming down,
you be the great-horned owl.
I'll be the absence of your sound.

All is not as it seems.
Life flows out from your dreams,
laughing between painted scenes
of long lost memories.

Watch them dance across the night,
but stare too long and you just might
spend your time in silent delight;
lose your time to the quiet night.

Don't grab for the fading smoke and
resist the past you've broken --
don't keep a reminiscent token --
and you may find yourself awoken.

Let me tell you, my friend:
listening for whispers on the wind
can only bring about the end.
Ah, but silence may mend

reality's split seams.
Life flows out from your dreams,
laughing between painted scenes
of long lost memories.

There's a darkness growing shadows,
like tendrils from a plant,
with wicked thoughts of discontent
and ill intentioned words like "can't."

You say that there's a place you're going;
a place you once called home.
But do houses stand the test of time
while streams around them flow?

I never thought I'd meet you
beyond the scope of centered thought,
but here you stand before me
and I know that I've been caught.

I won't ask for your forgiveness.
Nor compassion, love nor hope.
I only ask to be met as a man
drawn out with the undertow.

There's a sacred fire burning on the candle top.
I'm icy staring daggers trying to get it hot.
Read between the lines, let the mask drop.
'Cause in the end you only get what you got,

my friend.

When you came my way it stopped my heart.
When you went and left it tore me apart.
Wherever you go, I wish you the best
and know you look good in that summer dress,

my friend.

I'd like to share what I've seen with you.
I'm living in the land where dreams come true.
We could live a life of ease if you'd agree,
but why'd you have to go be so far from me,

my friend?

I'm feeling alone when we're not together.
So, I made myself a wing out of tar and feather.
I'll fly to the land of the ice and snow
and what I do there only I will know,

my friend.

I think it was spring.
There was an easy rain
the previous few days
and the heavy sky rolled
in lazy grays and patterned waves.

I gathered my things from
the living room floor.
See, I can't really sleep
when there is someone else in bed.
I stay awake, memorizing every
curve and contour and careful breath,
to seer the sensation of hands resting
on my elbow, or breath on my shoulder,
as immutable fact into my mind.
For, I know how rare the moments
can be to find and hold for the night.
So, I slept on the futon in the living room.

I was there for a week, or so.
We used to spend every day together,
at least sharing dinner or lunch or tea.
But, the wheeling of time rolls
forward forever dragging onward
despite resolute determination
to halt or hesitate, or remain.
That week she was distant, distracted.
Lost in some daydream or fantasy.
I wanted to pretend she was the same
woman I fell in love with that night
in the rain beneath the eaves.

As I prepared to leave, the realization dawned.
I said good bye, we hugged, and she left.
Maybe my farewell lacked resolution,
or maybe it was written in cursive on my face.
She hesitated, then returned
through the side door.
She looked me square and said
"Don't cry. I'll see you again."
I wept that day,
not because I'd never see her again,
but because the woman I had grown to love
had become someone I no longer knew.

Where did all the poets go?
I can't find them on the streets.

Where did all the lovers go?
All I see is lust and greed.

Where did all the culture go?
It didn't come with my degree.

Where did all the passion go?
It's just rote monotony.

Where did all the thinkers go?
Instead of blank redundancy.

Where did all the peacefuls go?
Did they join the milit'ry?

Oh, I don't think I'll ever know.
Where did all the virtue go?

It's another scarred heart from the flames of love.
You tried to do right, but you've gone and done wrong.
Why'd you play around where you didn't belong?
Now it's time to pack up and move on.

I wonder what could have rent you so asunder,
screaming like you’d seen the miracles of God,
while I watched with sudden fragile wonder
as your towers toppled right onto my lawn
but Love I’m just a vagrant’s shadow,
forgotten underneath the heel of passing time,
wandering from frozen field to flaming meadow
as a dozen birds wheel their thoughts across the sky.

I wonder what you think you’re wielding.
Is it some kind of strength deep in your soul?
Or have the clouds become a ceiling
that leaves you searching for a hole?
Love, I think you’ve lost your balance
but I hope that it leads to your rebirth
‘cause you created seven kinds of silence
when you left to burrow back into the earth.

I
don't
know what I've done.
I was messing around, I was having some fun.

I
don't
know why I tried
to **** off the seconds and ****** the time.

Now
I'll
face what I've done.
I will stare down the shadows escaping the sun,
but the night's just begun.

I
was
just sitting there.
I was tapping my fingers and combing my hair.

I
was
sitting up straight,
I was balancing all of the pieces at stake.

I
then
thought this to me,
I thought: "I'm feeling funny, I think I'll agree
that the night's just begun."

I
heard
bells on the wind.
I heard echoes of laughter and all of its kin.

I
saw
things come alive
with the essence of nature that makes us all thrive.

I
felt
things fall apart
with the rolling of thunder that thumped through my heart,
and the night's just begun.

I
flew
out of this place.
I flew out of the building and out into space.

I
flew
down to the depths.
I flew past all the serpents, with plenty of breadth.

I
went
straight through the door.
I went right to the heart, I went right to the core
and the night's just begun.

I
found
them in a cave.
They were lapis and emerald, too bright to state.

They
were
made up of stars.
They were too close for distant, they were too near for far.

They
turned
attention to me.
They said: "We'll give you a chance, you should probably flee
'cause the night's just begun."

They
said
these things to me.
They said: "You've wasted your life pursuing this dream.

Why'd
you
do what you did?
You had so much going for you, and you're only a kid.

You
tried
to face the abyss.
You wasted your talents, and we'll just mention this:
the night's growing dark."

They
burned
my body to ash.
They scattered me with lightening, with one giant crash.

I
fell
from clouds to the ground.
I fell on a pile of rocks, nothing more than a mound.

Why
won't
this night ever stop?
I am stuck on this mountain, I'm stuck on the top
and this night's growing long.

That's
when
she said to me.
"Oh, my child, don't you know that you'll freeze?

You
think
you've wasted your life,
with petty distractions, and unnecessary strife.

How
else
would you know what you know?
Your mind is quite fertile, it's starting to show
that this night's growing long."

She
made
my body whole.
She made all that was extinguished continue to glow.

She
bent
crooked to straight.
She balanced the forces not a moment too late.

She
sent
me on my way.
I understand, without having to say:
this night's almost done.

I
don't
know how to repay.
That act of kindness without going astray.

So
I'll
do what I can.
I'll be honest and open, always lending a hand.

And
when
the night's getting dark.
Don't fall to pressure, don't give up your spark,
and you might see the sun.

If they should ask, after some uncertainty,
respond resonating a cadence of tranquility:
"Because I am young and life demands it of me."

When you open your mind
remember to take your heart along.
The mind some words can write,
but without heart there'll be no song.

All those half-dreamed things
whirl about as tiny freckles
in the speckles of your mind.

Now my dear, I think it's time
we closed our eyes
and counted to eternity.

I'm trying to understand
whether I miss you
or the way I feel
when you're near.

It's a vague sense of hopelessness,
like I'll never have my fun.
I'm not the only one that feels like this --
I can't be the only one.

I found a message in a bottle,
cracked parchment on the shore,
a brittle note crumbling to dust.
It was written in foreign words
but I recognized the sentiment
and I thought about you, love.

I thought about the oceans between us,
the continents and worlds
the time, the space, the ether,
the chains of luck and fate.

And I wonder if you're a specter,
a phantom made inside my mind,
an elusive effigy of desire
summoned on a lonely winter's eve.

I see the echo of your movement, love,
so I wrote this down to say
I just received your message
and I hope you haven't flown away.

Exalted child of Gilgamesh,
what has devoured you today?
Were you so thrown off your center
that you gnash your teeth and pray?
Be careful who you call out to,
be cautious of what becomes,
for the gods are jealous parents
and the titans eat their sons.
But, it's good to seek assistance
when the transition begins
from an isolated wilderness
to the company of friends.

I wonder what you'd say to me,
if Time could stall and talk.
Would we reminisce of summers spent
or bicker 'til the dawn?

'Cause life's a loop of distant thoughts
rippling blindly through the void.

Sometimes I think if I were sober
this would make a little more sense.
It feels like my life's all over.
Or maybe I'm a little too dense:

I only know what they say
when they say what I know.

Sometimes I think  that my heart's troubled,
like everything is a little amiss.
Then again, my feelings are muddled.
I can't tell agony from bliss.

Hello, Mr. Man-in-Blue.
You know I've got my eye on you.
You I see looking back at me,
waiting for this man to stumble.

Well, Mr. Man-in-Blue
can you tell me what stands True?
Or could it be a mystery
with which we both will fumble?

Show me a woman
who loves what she's got.
Who's not afraid to go further
but knows when to stop.

Ghosts of past performances
Flicker through the screen
As thirty second tidbits
Of synthesized self-esteem
On display in the electric cascade
Of an endlessly rolling wheel.
Take a look, take a peak
At souls sold for attention.
Give a second, give a minute,
Place your time upon this altar.
But what do you expect to reap
Sacrificing your life to this machine
Where nothing's holy, nothing's sacred,
And nothing's what it seems?

Let the sun shine
on the fields of this life
where everything's fine
and we're taking our time.

When the sun has gone
to an unknown beyond
should we stifle a yawn
and pray for the dawn?

If you get caught
where the dealing is hot
you get what you got
and that's the price of a thought.

It often gets cold
so I've been told
when you're alone
with no body to hold.

It's up to you
so what will you do?
'Though you can't always choose
when the skies are blue.

What could you say
to the wind and the rain?
Don't be afraid,
it will all blow away.

Do you know what happened to me?
I was alone on a terrible sea.
Storms on the ocean, storms in my head,
feeling like I'm better off dead.

Now I am floating on air
just to have heard that you care.

It came to pass I was left behind,
a nameless nothing, a victim of time.
Confused and hopeless, unable to feel
with no way of knowing what's real.

Now I am floating on air
just to have heard that you care.

I was learning how to survive,
chasing sensation to feel alive.
I did what I could, do you understand?
In the end, I'm only a man.

Now I am floating on air
just to have heard that you care.

I realize that it's been a while
since a love has made me smile
but when you're around it's all I do.
I've got to be careful when a dream comes true.

Now I am floating on air
just to have heard that you care.

Changing quite a lot since living alone,
resting out of service of a cellular phone.
Oh, my momma, how is it true:
staring through a screen at the human zoo

Sitting by the window when the breeze passed by
making crazy castles disappear from the sky
Oh, my momma, what does it mean:
watching things dissolve like a passing dream?

Sometimes I'm around more dead than alive,
and it is taking all I got just to survive.
Oh, my momma, can you explain
why we're stuck suffering the same?

It's not that I'm hiding what I'm frightened to find.
Listening to the preacher puts a lot on your mind.
Oh, my momma, can you decry
being a lantern that's scared of the light?

Friends may appear, but quickly they're gone.
Inspiration's growing like a golden dawn.
Oh, my momma, help me to see:
what keeps momentum through this mystery?

Don't fill it to the top.
Don't let it overflow.
Leave some space to stop
and a little room to grow.