Traveling far away,
just away
To a level of discomfort
Like sadness or euphoria
Why is it all so fleeting?
This longing for comfort
It is not about meaning

The line we cling to
Pulling in some direction
Only to be discarded
At least I've been able
The poor can’t even say that

Did you ever think
This is something to listen to
Something to believe
Speak only into the silence
Hear only that voice
Then decide on your own

Who told you how to dream?
I tithe to the man on the corner
Not the man holding a book
Am I going to pay for that someday
or will my choice stir the lambs blood?