domenica, marzo 20, 2005

Arc of time

you can make a plan,
carve it into stone,
like a feather fallin,
it is still unknown,
until the clock speaks up,
says its time to go,
you can choose the high,
or the lower road,
might clench your fist,
might fork your tongue,
as you curse or praise,
all the things you've done,
and the faders move,
and the music dies,
as we pass over,
on the arc of time,

so you nurse your love like a wounded dove
in the covered cage of night,
every star is crossed by frenetic thoughts
that separate and then collide,
and they twist like sheets til you fall asleep
then they finally unwind,
its a black balloon its a dream
you'll soon deny,

I hear if you make friends,
with Jesus Christ,
you will get right up,
from that chalk outline,
and you'll get dolled up,
and you'll dress in white,
all to take your place,
in his chorus line,

and then in you'll come with those
marchin' drums in a saintly compromise,
no more whisky slurs
no more blonde haired girls for your whole eternal life,
and youll do the dance that was
choreographed at the very dawn of time,
see I told you son the day would come,

you will die you die you die you die

to the deepest part of the human
heart the fear of death expands,
so we cracked the code we have always know
but could never understand,
on a circuit board we will soon be born,
again again and again and again...