I’m two down now how do I get up again, I needed them then but they wreck me still
Under the branches all arranged on the steepest slope
And now I don’t even know what my ideal was in the first place.
And I talk about choice like I have some idea what it’s like to ever come close to encapsulating even one moment of what anyone ever felt
All I have is various shiny bits of card, they may be nice colours but they don’t get me far.
And this is a long break I wasn’t expecting, And I keep thinking I need more direction
But the truth is that it’s the speed and force and violence that hurts, and so direction doesn’t mean so much after all.
But that’s only a hunch, Why the fuck must I keep second guessing myself
Is it me or is there some comfort in unpredictability
Not comfort, no, cold comfort if so
All that remains is cold, dry, shrivelled mistakes, Served up on the world’s most enourmous plate.
What the fuck do you mean you don’t recognise me, Am I not different from anything you’ve ever before seen
Of course I am but your mind’s made up, And so I vanish under your cruel hand
But you claim to do it for honour and benevolence, You may even claim charity
But now it’s me that cannot see.
A mass grows, Sleepy, beautiful and dangerous
Do I have to relentlessly interrogate all that is here, According to what has already been
But where does this leave what is yet to come
Though I know everything must start at one, I’m stuck at zero not knowing how to become.
And who really cares about those who dance, Well I do, because they do not
And we strive to balance every scale, As if anything was ever so simple.
Yet simplicity is all I really desire, And that’s the nearest a truth I can offer
But don’t try making me feel good, I appreciate concern
But only in the sense that I know it’s not meant.