This Is For You
I woke up from the nightmare of childhood
Days of illusion
Dazed and confused
Because nobody ever really gives you a straight answer
Coddled and swallowed bottle it in your body
I don't know why we do it that way, it's just how things are we say to feign authority while authoring vague awareness just to not say "I don't know" and leave it there
I woke up, into an after thought but I can't see the beginning it's somewhere over the Horizon
How to take stock when you got yourself lost trying to remember your watch
Which is irrelevant if the time isn't used
Dawn hit me on the, in the... Well it collided with me somewhere and now my eyes are open, if still a little unfocussed, it's a treat to believe myself complete only to find I hadn't yet found my feet, THERE THEY ARE! So far from home, wandering toes any tales from the road?
I've heard about the path less beaten but the name doesn't refer to the Walker and I swelter in the heat and
I'll thrive, after I survive until dusk, because I work best in the dark, where my mistakes are less obvious and the contents of my heart, while weak still speak with a spark that is sometimes hard to catch so don't light matches of expectation and hold them to my exalted displayings
It's Art but it's about sensitivity - that's why we all must make sense, it can never be taken by those unwilling to wait, man
And if you catch some smoke from my chest in the rays of day where the mooring is upkept, give me a push and it'll woosh swell into Phoenix song before shattering into fireworks and in that moment, the afterthought of fire, don't perspire with radiant opulent praise but inspire and swell to match the sway you were affected by, influence the rudders to behest your direction
Don't gratify the wind with solid obstruction, like praise to silent addictions, you are trying to make a mark, leave a scar where your crown is shined however, is in windtunnels, pressurise and help to meet the pitch that storms are lit with and whistle while the mother works through you to a tune of tubas in bloom, is jazz and scattered razzimitaz the ballad? Or drab and rarely attached macabre hangings? The drum rhythm settles in, a ringing in the ear decide on the notes that to you seem clear
Thunder bolts of lightning - "Very very frightening"
And the audience knew what it was all along
Don't fear what clicks your heels
Don't bare the witness of false idols who influence the delighted to look forward to being the departed, nihilist bastard, life without meaning is reprehensible delusion, a suicide pact with the soul, from whose inference are you getting your data cataracts of stupor back turned to the saviour
Which is you, was all along
That's who this song is dedicated to.