Awake to a funeral wake.
Arise just to get a rise out of me.
In the end you know it all depends
on more than life and limb or destiny.
Defeated, questioning our feet.
Understand we know only to stand.
In the end you know you can't depend
on your life and limb or destiny.
Shifting strata under foot,
off the deep end of disrepair.
Wrong way down a late-night boulevard.
Headlights on ice illumine only unfamiliar.
Eyes shift with the frantic cadence of wipers
and in the spin sublimate answers.
Define me in this.
Define me by you.
Define me as less.
Design me a truth.
In the end you know it can't defend
against life and limb or destiny.
Burning the blueprints,
the vision blinds me.
There’s no solid ground to build on,
so why do I keep holding onto these blueprints?
They define me:
my design for me.
But if I burn them
maybe I'd keep warm,
and maybe they'd see -
be drawn to the flame:
the death of a dream be not in vein,
but that in itself is a dream;
another blueprint drawn up,
rolled up and tucked away.
These things you can't depend on.
They’re distant, withered, and deficient.
Shifting strata underfoot, we shake to stand up.
We can't depend on life and limb or destiny.
