Just because the substance doesn't
Arrive the way you thought it'd be,
It doesn't mean it isn't there.
Volume is a manifold perspective.
Stupid hearts try to adhere it,
But they never see it,
Hardly hear it. Pulse, rhythm, beat.
Why don't you go ahead and
Drown those memories for good;
Let them sink deep and heady.
Tie a heavy rock and watch the descend
As the new revelations make haste.
You could grow from that.
We could all grow something,
Some kind of thing from that.
What else is there to do?
We are all lost children.
We didn't get it right, like some do.
We fucked it up a bit,
So we contend with time,
And try to reconcile the difference.
But it may take a long while...
Are we Ok with that?