We get tired of ourselves in the consciousness we keep,
Wide awake and snoring, open eyes and fast asleep.
Looking straight and counting bridges,
Steady breaths while the river rests
As I sew them on like stitches,
Weaving steps into a nest.
If this world has made nothing for us,
Then how did it all get so damned and gorgeous?
Looking backwards and forwards,
Looking right towards us, we look back at the sun.
A peep through soft clouds, hiding strings on which it hung.
Insane by definition, but we are doing alright.
We're just running in circles until everything is right.
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