Whenever I drift by the unknown,
feign like I notice a fundamental tone
the fine petals open
and close, offended,
poor explanation and nothing shown.

Kind of like if a friend
exits without a sign
glimmering like a precious stone.
Maybe we shared a dream
for twenty nights in a row
I might feel better knowing that I was alone.

Wherever scientists turn lead to birds,
torment ignites essence, delights from the earth.
What you find shocking
they find amusing,
something else to soften a sadistic urge.
When they tell you the extent of the vice
then the prime time mission is to choke the statistician,
and like the senses thet you're lurking behind
while it gnaws right through to your core,
oh I'd twist it more.

If you think that you're free (free like a kite)
watching as it goes by (spy the unknown),
focus on the quiet oars.
Tell me how far you'd go (go where you like)
knowing your air won't last (last one to know).
Would you feel better holding the stars up?

What if the beast escapes (apes have it good)
and separates like a cloud (loud like a fault),
seeps into the hollow bones?
Wouldn't its eyes expand
and zero in like a scope?
I might feel better
knowing I wasn't alone.