The shit’s going hit the fan
The shit’s going to hit the fan
The photo reel is running backwards and scratching at the images.
As if it’s trying to set the memories free.
Everything is an accumulation.
Just ask every leaky faucet and every single cup.
Disaster is a process
Debris the creation
Ask every inhalation why we must hold on to the exhalation?
The rabbit hole is not a tunnel
It is just that, a hole.
They tell you what to expect.
But our heart holds such naivety
There really is no out
Even when our eyes roll into the back of our head
We are but sprouts
Seeking the wisdom of the earth
A voice calls out to us “Grow!”
As if we could with-hold
I don’t know what they mean
Yet the boom and they stomp
When will I know when I’ve grown?
Do you ever feel dizzy?
Like you can feel the earth’s axis?
They tell me it’s because your hungry
You’re hungry for so many things
You can’t tell me why you abstain
The reason is to simple and too plain to see
Yet you’d rather not look