I’m forgetting my own history
Playing loose with the mysteries
And the steam will not rise from my engine in peril
I’m falling through a hole in the bedroom white ceiling
Twisting and spinning down to the sky
There’s greater evidence to be known and seen
When belief inches closer to the scars
Who knows? Who cares? Who wiped away my tears?
Was it Abraham, Father to the stars?
Nickels, dimes, and dollar bills
Pile up in dusty corners
They smell like lonesome feels in the shadows of the day
There’s a deeper river running
If only it would find me
And cut me like a canyon, wild and free
Shine that light in my eyes till I’m blind with vision
Lead me down to the river
And drown me in the poetry
Of your imagination
The aching feeds the fantasy
And the stage is set for God only knows
The ear is hearing whistles made of wood and reed
Telephones are ringing
There's a girl in blue who's singing
And all I can hear is the sound of failure
This is not the promise of the glory of kings
It’s all brushstroke, no heart, no give and take, delight
There’s that pain in my chest
That always comes on
Right before a big fight
If belief is only a construct, my own little thumb suck
Then I’m a kite in a tree, a kite in a tree
If belief is only a construct, my own little thumb suck
Then I’m a kite in a tree, a kite in a tree
