Turning a key and in turn turning free all the thoughts that then fly, they could flee but then thoughts that fly free have no need to flee or am I missing something?

Bring me my ideas in a box filled with sand and I'll show you castles built not with the hand but the mind and then hand me the key to let all thoughts run free, hand me the sea in a sieve and I'll give you gemstones.

Backpedal.

See how we're home free with the domes of Damascus that would stop men to ask us, how do they do that? we answer them using Aramaic, using ancient and archaic chants planting seeds before the harvest.

Beating chests and tearing hair and where the answers lie for us in the old markets of Lahore we wore stripes on our bedrolls and tore strips from our skin, we didn't win that one and that's for the best.

And Beau Geste in the legion somewhere in the region of a beach, out of sight out of reach and he wasn't real really just someone's idea of an ideal and we fell for it.

Turn me another brother, turn me a key, spin me the wheel and let the numbers fall free.

We all see in the end as the beginning starts to wend its way wearily home and for some the end is another key to set free all
the beginnings we knew and could never see.