We fulfill the needs of the dying before the living, we try, like the magnet on the fridge to become pizza but we don't want respect or the desire to be liked like those that came before us but we want to be accepted enough to get enough likes or retweets and we want the world to become digital because we've left this analog husk behind, we are trying to create artificial minds not to
There is nothing for us here, we are dead and singing, becoming and tracing our hearts and our minds with our words but we leave the actions out in the hallway, freezing clutching with their small hands the hope and desire
Selah, why are we moving?
Why aren't we dying why aren't we dead
why are we dying why are we dead
why
is a boring question when you can ask who when where who was there at the party that who was there at that president that wasnt a presidents inauguration when did it happen O M G i missed it when is it going down where is it where is
Where is it Selah? where are we? when are we? who are we? why are we
All these questions that you'll never get answered in your lifetime, your life, all their lives all their lifes, whatwhywhowherewhen is all part of what doesn't really matter because the same questions will come again and the answers will be same but with the variance of life and these questions are interesting in the start or just after you've had psychedelics or waking up to a next love, I used to like to think that we got these questions at junctions and crossroads or turning around in the cul de sac and I used to think they were there to bring us back into life when we have been in unlife for too long or to show us darkness when we had been sleeping in the light
to spark what we have once been, what we are and where we will be, to spark dreams and hopes and prayers, to spark the child in your eyes and the teenager in your brain, to live love and life ohgod you wonderful life, I ran over you with my old trabant and I didn't stop long, only long enough to hear you groan before I drove on out of my life and into, out of this
into the wasteland as the sun sets and I remember being human, all too human for all the wrong reasons as I gun into the wasteland with a glass of warm champagne in my hand
I hope you're putting a book together if only so I can give it to people I admire
This felt kinda songy so I songed it, I hope you don't mind, now it's gone anyway.