Back to reality,
your job is done.
The world is still down there.
Life goes on,
but not yours.
The bookcases are empty.
You are a blinking light,
you are a spark,
dust going through the solar winds.
As insignificant as we are
as important as we sometime
dreamed we ever could be,
just taking another sacrifice,
another risk.
Another way to explain the paradox,
the definitive speech.
And I'm in the search
and I'm gonna do it.
I'm gonna.
Whatever uncertainty comes up
I'll be there
trained to face it,
collapsed and ruined perhaps.
I'm back in business
to take different roles.
I'll be a racist,
a monk,
sperm on your roots.
I'm gonna be solvent bleach,
a thousand confused persons
in one life once.
The line has been crossed
and my foots are not mine any longer
and these writing fingers belong to eternity
and I have nothing else to say
because I'm satisfied with what I have
and with what I dream of
and with what I'll get
and with what will be taken away from me
in the correct time
in the correct way.
