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Album:The Outer Marker |
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I'm moving your mental feet |
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In complex dances and jigs |
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I'll loosen up your consciousness |
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Like a syrup of figs |
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It's time to emerge from |
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camouflage leaves and twigs |
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Time to throw the fake noses and fright wigs |
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Time to face the music |
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No more metaphor |
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Time to decide your fate |
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Will you be cooked or go raw |
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Will you be |
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Rare and bloody with your soul exposed |
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Or well done |
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a charcoal surface with your insides froze |
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and do you feel fear |
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as you hear |
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another door close |
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or will you just turn away |
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and flow where the wind blows |
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and are you still satisfied |
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with the pathways you chose |
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or would you like to go back |
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and rewrite the old prose |
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Do you count the flakes |
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When it snows |
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And can you feel the heat |
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or only the afterglows |
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Do you count the flakes |
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When it snows |
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And do you count the leaves |
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when they fall? |
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And can you feel anything at all? |
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Do you count the leaves |
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when they fall, yeah? |
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Does your life sometimes |
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feel like one big fake orgasm |
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A gut reaction |
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Instinctive spasm |
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in the chasm |
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And do your problems metamorphose |
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into rubiks cubes |
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Keep twisting and turning |
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Becoming more confused |
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Do you sometimes feel |
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like you've been used and abused |
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Your not visibly black and blue |
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But on the inside bruised |
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And does your love life |
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leave you feeling kinda bemused |
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You've played all the games |
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And you're no longer amused |
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Sometimes it feels like |
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I'm looking through a pain of glass |
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I can see your mouth move |
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but can't hear the words |
