now i'm a dilapidated sloth man
loosing my youth and more
just to find the truth
so that I can soar

But the truth isn't enough
because what I had before was.
and the answers aren't all tough
when you unfold that paper crane
a square piece of paper plain
with lines, creases, reminders of what was
and that beauty slain

lays on the table
just from those lines
that crane becomes fable
as you try to make that paper shine

awe ****, now I rubbed a hole in it
at least I can hold it to the sky
and shoot a painful sunbeam into my eye
but the sun too does its damage

so here I am with this crumpled mess
holding it to my eye so I can see through
to fold it back up again
faded and flimsy it begins to rain

Ill hold out, Ill make it through
cant stop looking searching for whats true
that beauty that grace that purity that face
maybe Ill hold it out to gain that broader view
ripped off the corners and speedily withdrew
my hands and ran for a mirror

I could take it off but it would fall apart
isn't it better to be tattooed than to let that crane go?
I'm not sure I don't know
how's is it different from that original state
folded on the table
I though this was fate
is this how we grow?
fading wondrous fable
how am I to know.

Here I am now
walking around a ***** square on my face for all to see
and the people they ask me
the same things they always did
what are you doing with that?
because it was always just a piece of paper
and that's a beautiful thing to know
its a peaceful thing to know.