a day late, a memory short.  a moment began long before either of us could breathe and each moment was what vaguely resembled telepathy.  dying dreams to go to sleep or sweet escapes that scream defeat.  your moment is your time and everything will rewind or soon repeat.

rocket ships can't hear us now when the stage two blasts have passed.  and the only friend we'll have will be the person we see in the glass.  auroras of mind won't be hard to find and the magnetism of the stars will reflect on you. i've vandalized our only way home so you know that I'm telling the truth.

i've utilized the moment and caressed it into motion.  I've become the self denying symptom of devotion or a universal explosion, or whatever it is that reminds us of what we're holding; a map for a plan that we can't understand as it's still being written and no one's around to promise the land.  

we'll dig until we find mars or at least a better path through the stars.

caught the grizzly scene, down on its knees.  a dark cop in the corner, writing everything down like prescriptions a ****** is forcing with a gun to his head.  we were weaving in and out of traffic and minds when the barriers hit the brakes for a second, and that was sobering enough.  we kicked it down to third gear and the radio waves became a name.  for a second, we existed only as guesses.

the coroner report will come back eventually, and there we will place all blame on discrepancies.  while burying our heads, we discovered our feet and only kept the left one around for sake of symmetry.

now go tell the press and demand them to redact all contents of their articles that had an impact

composing an ocean, devoid of emotion
    complete within it's motion
  we know how to start commotions

minds wander higher than the tides
and the feeling that everything is just right
    begins to subside for just a little while

we've brushed against our wisdom
  devoted life and limb for symptom
of a better type of income

    remember chasing words through the sea
as a vagrant form of poetry
or the times of make believe
i thought you reserved for me

now i truly hear how
my heart beats

thumbs to the sky as we cosmically hitchhike, distances we can't find on earth but somehow hide inside our minds.  ignition sequence, a countdown said in rewind.  one more time for the sake of headlines that will seek to remind the exploration we've stopped and now just pantomime.

we are a planet sized diamond or the birth of galaxies in ultra-violet; the fusion of an atom or the things that science can't fathom.  the creation of a star and the worlds that are suddenly becoming less far.  Let's hotwire a rocketship, vacation in zero G.  we'll redefine gravity and finally understand relativity.

this is the last time I go to NASA for an answer.

we caught a magnet in the stars, just to remember just how far
we've come and where we're going to

it's more convenience than truth, more denial than proof
more for appreciation than getting used

i've been pulled back, after defying the track.  
anticipating collapse of systems no longer intact.

proudly on display, those who gave the stars names
in hopes of a better place, or a forgotten face
or for all those things that got away

it's almost pointless in the grand scheme
but that doesn't help, when you won't share my dream

been feeling out of luck, or in a funk.  or like a wanderer with a broken pickup truck.  a hitchhiker stuck in a rut or the feeling that you get right before you've been struck.  

we've taken names when we conquered this place and later sold them to slaves for minimum wage.  your hate remains the same even when you have love entering your veins at a staggering pace.   now i know why your name is tied to a face i can't quite place as I remember all those shots I used to keep my memory erased.

there's no compassion for passion, no rest for the wicked, no waking for the altruists who've stayed away from stigma.  no place for complacency, no words for the mute.  no changing places now, except for the resolute.  

there's no home for the tired and no plots for the conspired.  no truth for the useless, no downfall for the liars.

antidotes become a long walk home
after leaving everything you used to know
the swaying trees speak in tongues through leaves
and roses become chloroform

tied to a a mast i'm set to outlast
sirens on horizons, harmony intact
this boat becomes a home for everything still unknown
as the hull breeches from impact

can't complete what i'll never believe.  
been forced to deny what makes sense to me.
and while the tired are now wired, and begging to flee
i'm still addicted to whats worst for me