In this race there's no keeping pace.
Bare foot under naked skies.
Masks unveil and so does clouds.
Remark, sun stands high.
The price of pursuit will cost your feet.
Close enough isn't closing in.
You won't ever climb high enough.
You won't ever run fast enough.
Point a finger down righteousness' path.
They will follow you and lift you up.
You shall never walk again.
Exposure lies in the eye of the beholder.
We see what we're presented with.
But are you willing to look a little further?
Close enough isn't closing in.
You won't ever climb high enough.
You won't ever run fast enough.
Close enough isn't closing in.
We're closing in, we're climbing higher and higher.
We're closing in, we're running faster and faster.
Confine these treacherous undoings. We choose what we're given. And I live, so I'll live in these brief unmeasurable intervals called moments. But the only thing I get to keep are the sticks and stones. Just like memories, these will break and crumble in to scraps and splinters in the palms of my hands. When the hourglass has been crushed I am just a man pouring my own sand in the pools I created. So I look up, staring wide then sealing my eye lids tight, crossing fingers over hands hearing myself screaming to this man on the moon. It's too loud, can he even hear my cries? I dream of spinning wheels marking the late canopies when they should drive me home. Don't fly away again little mocking bird, you should sing for me. It's been so long since I heard the melody of a thousand running springs. Now the reminiscence just reminds me of myself. Why would I need to tell myself about how I never learned to fly with my own arms, and how can anyone cloud state even listen if I couldn't. My feet are soar from all this dancing with an axe in my arm, it never tasted wood and I can never really build a ladder tall enough. I can climb these walls around me and I can outrun my past but only for so long, until there are no winds to catch the sails that I've sown and my lungs have dried out from all the anger I've burnt. I'll be staring wide at the velvet canopy, then closing my eyes, crossing fingers over hands hearing myself whispering words of hope and humility to a wind that I believe will carry my prayers to one who listens.
Bare foot under naked skies.
Masks unveil and so does clouds.
Remark, sun stands high.
The price of pursuit will cost your feet.
Close enough isn't closing in.
You won't ever climb high enough.
You won't ever run fast enough.
Point a finger down righteousness' path.
They will follow you and lift you up.
You shall never walk again.
Exposure lies in the eye of the beholder.
We see what we're presented with.
But are you willing to look a little further?
Close enough isn't closing in.
You won't ever climb high enough.
You won't ever run fast enough.
Close enough isn't closing in.
We're closing in, we're climbing higher and higher.
We're closing in, we're running faster and faster.
Confine these treacherous undoings. We choose what we're given. And I live, so I'll live in these brief unmeasurable intervals called moments. But the only thing I get to keep are the sticks and stones. Just like memories, these will break and crumble in to scraps and splinters in the palms of my hands. When the hourglass has been crushed I am just a man pouring my own sand in the pools I created. So I look up, staring wide then sealing my eye lids tight, crossing fingers over hands hearing myself screaming to this man on the moon. It's too loud, can he even hear my cries? I dream of spinning wheels marking the late canopies when they should drive me home. Don't fly away again little mocking bird, you should sing for me. It's been so long since I heard the melody of a thousand running springs. Now the reminiscence just reminds me of myself. Why would I need to tell myself about how I never learned to fly with my own arms, and how can anyone cloud state even listen if I couldn't. My feet are soar from all this dancing with an axe in my arm, it never tasted wood and I can never really build a ladder tall enough. I can climb these walls around me and I can outrun my past but only for so long, until there are no winds to catch the sails that I've sown and my lungs have dried out from all the anger I've burnt. I'll be staring wide at the velvet canopy, then closing my eyes, crossing fingers over hands hearing myself whispering words of hope and humility to a wind that I believe will carry my prayers to one who listens.