Let me take your hand
as I twist and sever
your ideals and efforts.
Come closer now, so
I can push you away
from the garbage-dump graveyard
from the dark where I spend my days
from the hidden eye in my hurricane.
Let go of me,
your eternal hurricane
give up the role of bamboo
in winds that can only strain
and prolong pain,
as you can bend but
never break.
I'll keep cycling, I'll keep running,
I'll keep juggling, always juggling,
because its in my nature to do so.
Forever my weather is my excuse.
You've waited for it to change, so
you chase me down the trail through the forest
with this hungry muck that swallows your feet.
Footprints everywhere.
Deepened, hardened
impressions of your own sole,
and I am the spinning little bunny
you chased on down the rabbit hole
that leads to
nothing more,
nothing less than
oblivion.
Can you remember where?
I've led you there before,
through briars, tangled in webs of maya,
you'd war forever against the strands
only to grow tired, depressed,
angry and miserable in the end.
Its happened before,
look at the footprints.
Far smarter than that, now you
swallow the bitter pill of truth:
the objective's unachievable.
The web you spun on your own,
and for what -- to chase oblivion?
And the whirlwind, you'd
think it would be roaring to you,
but not a whisper,
not a touch of rain.
Not a single action,
so much for just a reaction:
it just tosses pieces back
when you throw
something its way.
So slow down now,
try and stand still,
watch as it
recedes.
Until you leave,
when it will be
slowly following,
fiercely howling,
whistling through
the doors you're
finally shutting.
as I twist and sever
your ideals and efforts.
Come closer now, so
I can push you away
from the garbage-dump graveyard
from the dark where I spend my days
from the hidden eye in my hurricane.
Let go of me,
your eternal hurricane
give up the role of bamboo
in winds that can only strain
and prolong pain,
as you can bend but
never break.
I'll keep cycling, I'll keep running,
I'll keep juggling, always juggling,
because its in my nature to do so.
Forever my weather is my excuse.
You've waited for it to change, so
you chase me down the trail through the forest
with this hungry muck that swallows your feet.
Footprints everywhere.
Deepened, hardened
impressions of your own sole,
and I am the spinning little bunny
you chased on down the rabbit hole
that leads to
nothing more,
nothing less than
oblivion.
Can you remember where?
I've led you there before,
through briars, tangled in webs of maya,
you'd war forever against the strands
only to grow tired, depressed,
angry and miserable in the end.
Its happened before,
look at the footprints.
Far smarter than that, now you
swallow the bitter pill of truth:
the objective's unachievable.
The web you spun on your own,
and for what -- to chase oblivion?
And the whirlwind, you'd
think it would be roaring to you,
but not a whisper,
not a touch of rain.
Not a single action,
so much for just a reaction:
it just tosses pieces back
when you throw
something its way.
So slow down now,
try and stand still,
watch as it
recedes.
Until you leave,
when it will be
slowly following,
fiercely howling,
whistling through
the doors you're
finally shutting.
