So take me somewhere.
Somewhere I have yet to see in my few years on this rock. This rock is so heavy laden with egotistical phantoms, consulting nothing but themselves.
Somewhere where these said beings don't exist and yet...and yet you're there. You're there powering the cool breeze that goes across the great oceans to vast plains of the west.
Where I can be alone and yet surrounded by life that has much more meaning than my own.
And this tranquility found in a tree who's roots go so deep they are singed by magma at the very core of a place I am used to calling home and yet have never felt as if I belong.
And falcons perched on gnarled branches that have more years than my entire family tree. They sit on hot air pockets that are so dense they could carry a man.
...but they won't.
and there's fruit so large that must be dug from the earth after they fall could feed a village for a month...yet I sit nibbling on grade F meat the size of my fist telling myself I'll dig up the fruit tomorrow.
Tomorrow never comes because it will always be today.
Yeah, that may sound cliche but it's true - it's truer than anything I ever remember being told about what's going to happen next. I tell myself I'm okay with that.
But I'm not okay with that
And I should be climbing that tree. Grasping his strong branches and perching next to the apes and panthers and green tree frogs who would love to talk, but they don't know what to say.
I wouldn't know what to say if I were a frog.
And one thousand feet later I'd be feeling the warm pollution-free air against my skin and tasting only the sweetest fruit man has ever known. I'd live there, you know, I'd live in that tree.
But no (no, no, no) , that first branch is way too high, I tell myself. I'd rather stand in the sand at the bottom. Sand so deep I barely move my arms. Trying to make friends with the scorpions and spiders that trap innocence in their claws like only spiders could - see, there's no a***ogy when you're already talking about spiders.
But perhaps, perhaps I can move my arms - perhaps I just haven't tried. In fact that first branch is very much within my reach I just don't know it, or maybe I've just forgotten.
That's it - I've forgotten.
I've forgotten what companionship is like because I can't see.
I can't see past the sand.
It stings
That sand really stings.
I'm not dead.
I'm not dead yet.
Is that too morbid for you? Yeah, it's too morbid for me too. Maybe I'll reach for that branch. Maybe I'll love, maybe I'll hope, maybe I'll cry, maybe I'll do all those things I told myself I was gonna do!
...tomorrow!
Somewhere I have yet to see in my few years on this rock. This rock is so heavy laden with egotistical phantoms, consulting nothing but themselves.
Somewhere where these said beings don't exist and yet...and yet you're there. You're there powering the cool breeze that goes across the great oceans to vast plains of the west.
Where I can be alone and yet surrounded by life that has much more meaning than my own.
And this tranquility found in a tree who's roots go so deep they are singed by magma at the very core of a place I am used to calling home and yet have never felt as if I belong.
And falcons perched on gnarled branches that have more years than my entire family tree. They sit on hot air pockets that are so dense they could carry a man.
...but they won't.
and there's fruit so large that must be dug from the earth after they fall could feed a village for a month...yet I sit nibbling on grade F meat the size of my fist telling myself I'll dig up the fruit tomorrow.
Tomorrow never comes because it will always be today.
Yeah, that may sound cliche but it's true - it's truer than anything I ever remember being told about what's going to happen next. I tell myself I'm okay with that.
But I'm not okay with that
And I should be climbing that tree. Grasping his strong branches and perching next to the apes and panthers and green tree frogs who would love to talk, but they don't know what to say.
I wouldn't know what to say if I were a frog.
And one thousand feet later I'd be feeling the warm pollution-free air against my skin and tasting only the sweetest fruit man has ever known. I'd live there, you know, I'd live in that tree.
But no (no, no, no) , that first branch is way too high, I tell myself. I'd rather stand in the sand at the bottom. Sand so deep I barely move my arms. Trying to make friends with the scorpions and spiders that trap innocence in their claws like only spiders could - see, there's no a***ogy when you're already talking about spiders.
But perhaps, perhaps I can move my arms - perhaps I just haven't tried. In fact that first branch is very much within my reach I just don't know it, or maybe I've just forgotten.
That's it - I've forgotten.
I've forgotten what companionship is like because I can't see.
I can't see past the sand.
It stings
That sand really stings.
I'm not dead.
I'm not dead yet.
Is that too morbid for you? Yeah, it's too morbid for me too. Maybe I'll reach for that branch. Maybe I'll love, maybe I'll hope, maybe I'll cry, maybe I'll do all those things I told myself I was gonna do!
...tomorrow!