It’s said there is no destination, only journey
A fellow rolls along upon their gurney

We know our actions aren’t for us
Are for a process beyond all of us
But playing the role of a crutch
To society's broken feet
Makes me instead of it just want to run

And I use the word 'just' like a curse
Because I don’t want to believe how much it hurts
To be afraid of a truth I feel compelled to rehearse
In denial lies the fruit of our thirst

No one wants to slow this thing down
So we’re choking now
Taking orders without question
Led straight into another bastion
That we’d rather interpret as a threat than a fashion

We grow old
We grow old
We grow old

Plant turns mold
Mold turns plant
Plant turns mold

*

You climbed that tree
You fell and hurt your knee
You watched the blood pour out of the puncture in your armor
You saw your life in that color
You knew this would have to end
And that the pain would only tell you that you can’t even help it

Look at the tired eyes
The puffy feeling
Acceptance of irrationally-anchored rationality
A beautiful, singing dance of aimless reeling…

What are we going to do?
What are we doing to 'go'?

Whatever we want
Whatever we need

What do we want?
What do we need?

Caught in the twisting crime of an imposed paradigm
Writhing against the moving wall of entropia
Jarred awake to a sky that’s black at night with the polluted contrast of a factory-city society’s midnight oil

Burn it all down
Fall asleep by the fire
Wake up cold