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So I wake up, to remainder the dream
of personality and posture and face
for nothing can remain as it seems
in some perfect state of pure grace....
all we prize and protect only cause and
effect
but I suspect the furrow may be guiding
the plough
and I'll never find a better time
to be alive than now.
No better, no worse, much the same,
we wait on the why and the when;
no question but we'll go as we came
with no shift in the shape of the zen
and it is as it is and we take as we find
always next season's buds on the bough...
but I'll never find a better time
hard though it is to allow
I'll never find a better time
to be alive than now.
This is the life and we've only time
to be alive right now.
I can't think of anywhere I'd rather be
going
in the end every journey's only pawing
in the ground
and I've half a mind just to jack it in,
but for this torn-off ticket stub I just
found.
Since you ask about the shape I'm in
I'll try my best to pull myself around.
Amnesiac if you say it's so
amnesiac what happened long ago?
Oh, now I just don't know.
I can't think of anyone that I'd rather
be with
but I don't know why you should want to
stick here with me
when I can't find what was on my mind
for all the holes punched in my memory:
it's a wasteland, and I'm terrified
to admit, to let go, to accept I don't
know
all those blanks won't be filled
I'll be found by the chill
of the glacier run
of what I might have done
since you last asked about the state I'm
in
it seems I've lost all grip on where I'm
coming from......
Amnesiac does it so plainly show?
Amnesiac as if I didn't know,
Amnesiac oh say it isn't so....
Amnesiac,
amnesiac,
amnesiac,
black-out, K.O.
out of memory
(Who do you think you are?)
Inside, it's a hailstorm visibility
transformed by outer confidence and charm
step up to take responsibility,
step down to keep the pieces of identity
calm
and the moment we believe that we got
it all in place
is the very moment when the cup overflows
out of memory.
(Who do you think you are?
Where did you say you'd been?
What did you think you were?
How did it seem?
How does it seem?)
There goes the who, the what, the why and
wherefore
all folded up in origami stuff:
people and places we once cared for...
we remember, but not vividly enough
and it's all blank paper when we finally
open up
with not even watermarks as messages to
trace
only folds in the floe of the frozen face
out of memory.
Strange language fills my head:
(It isn't written, you can take it as
read
if you dare to believe it
the buts stop where the arrow's sped,
this is the main chance,
take it or leave it.)
It isn't written but still I take it as
read.
I heard the grass growing under my feet
-
oh, princess, what might have been?
Once your kisses were so bittersweet
that I got caught in the in-between.
Strange voices came and went
(It isn't certain, but it's 90%, yeah,
you'd better believe it.
The buck stops when the arrow's spent,
this is the get-out,
take it or leave it.)
If I'm uncertain still I leave it unsaid.
I can't take it, can't leave it.
Yes, questions - though responses remain
unsure;
still I stay open for suggestions - for
this there's no simple cure.
And I got lost in the forest of pronouns
so I can't see the wood for the trees.
Strange language floods my head...
(It isn't certain, but it's 90%, yeah,
you'd better believe it.
The butts stop where the arrow's sped,
this is the get-out,
take it or leave it.)
It isn't written...do I take it as read?
I can't take it, can't leave it.
My heart's worn on my sleeve:
I'd offer all I could contrive
if only you'd believe
you flood my mind.
We're earthbound
but you spring my heart alive.
My heart's stopped in its tracks -
what train of thought has just arrived
while gravity's cruel tax
drags me to ground?
We're earthbound
but you spring my heart to life.
We spin around,
we're earthbound
but you spring me free to flight.
Eathbound,
we're earthbound,
all earthbound...
but we all long for flight.
Heartbreak the anagram:
(But hero Dan had no brute boar hunted;
doubt he ran but heard no burned oath;
undo breath, do burn hate, be hard unto
burned oath, undo breath...)
Earthbound.
You can settle down, select your entertainment
-
on reflection you'll be there in every
surface;
you can take your time, there's no need
to have a reservation here.
Drink up your fill in the Narcissus bar
& grill.
Sweet daffodil, what a fascination you
are.
Ooh, what a thrill: you can be your own
lucky star.
Falling in love with your reflection,
I guess you've found your blind spot.
(Don't fall in love with your reflection,
no heart could handle the rejection:
you're going to dive deep into the well.)
You had a name once but it seems that
now you've lost it,
you had a name but you've forgotten it
now.
Classic lessons to be learned, just a word
of caution,
self-absorption doesn't guarantee respect:
what you'll get you'll earn...eye on the
main chance,
this is not what you desire or expect,
drowning in the watering-hole....
and don't imagine that you're one of the
elect
Pay up your bill: in the Narcissus bar
& grill
there's time left to kill, better start
to see who you are.
Think good or ill of the Narcissus bar
& grill
it's all grist to the mill, it's all kissing
that scars.
Go on and drink up your fill,
do what you will, it won't reveal what
you are.
Drink up your fill, it's time to pay up
your bill.
Falling in love with your reflection,
I guess you've found your blind spot:
you're going to dive deep into the well.
(Don't fall in love with your reflection,
no heart could handle the rejection:
of getting lost in introspection....)
You had a name once but it seems that
you forgot it;
you had a name but it seems that now you've
lost it;
you had a name but, baby, you've not got
it now.
All the things that you've got will not
be worth a lot
if the owning becomes an obsession
meaning nothing more than mere material
possession.
Broken, lost, the precious thing,
does that make your life so empty?
stars shine alike upon the ditch and on
the land of Plenty.
the thing that's gone was always going
to be gone,
what's left is some remembered pleasure
-
only their loss confirms the things we
ever learned to treasure.
And the things that you claim are only
ever yours in name -
do you think that they'll leave an impression?
Only flesh and bone are the true material
possessions.
Your lighter's worth a watch, your watch
would buy a car,
your car is worth a house with rooms to
rattle round in.
Try to make the house a home that's yours
and yours alone:
you dredge a lake of dreams to fill with
tears and drown in.
Now the flame will soon be dowsed and
time is running out,
the wheel will turn full circle, then
we'll all be foundlings.
And all the things that we own are never
ours alone,
no, they just pass through our hands in
succession -
shake the spirit, shake the blood, shake
the flesh and shake the bone
shake free from material possession.
Every loss is treasure trove, every gain
is faded,
every taste and every touch will finally
be jaded.
When in the end all life is spent,
what we bought was mere digression:
the price we pay shaking free from material
possession.
Everything you've done is carried with
you
and no-one's ever going to forgive you
if you won't come to terms with where
and who you've been:
look at the screen now.
Stir up the ghosts of your own forgetfulness,
don't pack up your troubles in the sleeping
bag.
Don't ignore what you saw but believe
how it seems,
you can try to make a brand new start.
We can only do our best, with an open
heart
come clean,
wipe the slate clean,
come clean.
The slates clean but there's something
that you never forget:
though it's hidden in your most secret
place
it's still written in the memories that
you've buried - worse yet
it's restructured in the lines of your
face... come clean.
No spooling on to how it's ending
and the next few pages are mindbending:
the territory's minefield and the needle's
in the red.
Let's put it to bed now,
cook up a cover story for our given lots,
be do or damned, stand by the forget-me-not.
there'll be no blame for the stain that
a lived-in life leaves,
no shame in what might have been.
We can only do our best but our lives'll
never be pristine -
come clean, the slate's clean, come clean.
Maybe what I mean's this is as clean as it ever gets.....
So I wake up, to remainder the dream
of personality and posture and face
for nothing can remain as it seems
in some perfect state of pure grace....
all we prize and protect only cause and
effect
but I suspect the furrow may be guiding
the plough
and I'll never find a better time
to be alive than now.
No better, no worse, much the same,
we wait on the why and the when;
no question but we'll go as we came
with no shift in the shape of the zen
and it is as it is and we take as we find
always next season's buds on the bough...
but I'll never find a better time
hard though it is to allow
I'll never find a better time
to be alive than now.
This is the life and we've only time
to be alive right now.
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