It is a different world out there.
Where life is broken down into its elementary notion
To something very elementary, that it starts to get eerie.
Like something as simple as a piece of paper becomes atoms and molecules,
Out there, men become a labyrinth of monoliths,
Painted in a shade of skin and made of bones.
These labyrinths are often carried by trench-coats,
Accompanied by trousers and shoes.
Out there is filled with scattered food for the birds
Scattered by the rhythmic motion of a wrinkled hand
Out there is repleted with hours waiting by the window
For things that don’t exist, or choose not to exist.
A world filled with nothing, nothing at all.
A world so big, bigger than you can imagine.
It is quite intuitive, for nothing
Except nothingness exists in such large numbers.
Jan 27, 2015
Jan 27, 2015 at 8:31 PM UTC
It is a different world out there.
Where life is broken down into its elementary notion
To something very elementary, that it starts to get eerie.
Like something as simple as a piece of paper becomes atoms and molecules,
Out there, men become a labyrinth of monoliths,
Painted in a shade of skin and made of bones.
These labyrinths are often carried by trench-coats,
Accompanied by trousers and shoes.
Out there is filled with scattered food for the birds
Scattered by the rhythmic motion of a wrinkled hand
Out there is repleted with hours waiting by the window
For things that don’t exist, or choose not to exist.
A world filled with nothing, nothing at all.
A world so big, bigger than you can imagine.
It is quite intuitive, for nothing
Except nothingness exists in such large numbers.
(Dedicated to Elanor Rigby, who in turn is dedicated to all the lonely people)
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