We take some words
(the ones we're looking at)
isolate them into fact
it's easier to interact
(keep looking the same way)

Words become worlds
(or they were already)
only seen in conflict
but prefer to walk away
(tomorrow can dismiss today)

Then I find my self
(or them, can I tell?)
in the clash between our worlds
still, before the end they quit
(pick up what I can of it)

Build it back up into me
(what else is night for?)
So desperate for a map,
some kind of line to follow
(I can finally be something again)

So I become what I consider myself to be
(or it becomes through me)
a function between worlds of words
an ill defined equality
(it makes whatever sense now means to me)


An ever more abstract version
(of an abstracted version)
of someone,
trying their best to be me