Outwards they pull they pull the people.
Into open air, and they drop them into their holes, the world’s too cold for this.
I can see for a second, infinity, as my head grows lighter and I start to leave. I’ve chased shadows that turned on me.
Pulled closed the curtains, and let themselves cease to be.
All my words given weight, by some chance it’s afterwards that you’re given chance.
All through these tangled masses, a priest and a child.
Given purpose to make mankind worthwhile.
The gift you’ve given, but dust in my hands.
Always taken back from me, and I’m tossed into the promised land.
Everybody goes on promises given, and they have to keep moving forward or they lose all their sense of living.
It’s funny you’ve searched, in the prophets words.
I saw them painted out, and they were washed away.
Everybody’s so different, this world’s created by whims.
All the art created given, to a strangers hands.
It’s all weightless, in the scope of your mourning.
Given depth by pursuits of another morning.
It’s all I have to give, and it’s poured from my soul.
All my problems twisted, into a new hole.
It’s not yet twilight, and I have to breathe.
All my feelings growing, taking over my stead.
All imitations, and things done before, but with new purpose, you can open every door.