"And we: spectators always, everywhere. Forever turned toward the world of objects, never outward. It fills us . We arrange it, then break down ourselves. " Under the canopy of the uncaring hand, trapped in the freeway sound of modern life. Displaced matter that I search for in the night sky. Vaccine in a shooting star. Cures in trees never ever touched reaching upward alongside. HEaring the loss like knees cracking. My brain a mockingbird for remembrance. Hands are paws for feeling, scratching the symbols that I'm only beginning to understand. But howling, this is the howling. This is hearing sounds unheard.
Lyrics submitted by DarkerShadeofWinter