And I cataloged it with my senses,
This sentient sensation,
And hoarded it away inside my gut away from scrutinizing
nations.
Away from the world and it's black and white disgrace.
Somehow I just cannot see it.
For some reason I don't believe it,
With my Guide throbbing brilliant colors, bright and glaring
inside my gut.
And I look for the stars, before the night has come.
Silently creeping, silently weeping,
Before my sight of blue and white,
Strangely frightening, shaking my might.
And I know the sky is falling,
I feel it pressing against my chest, a choking in my breast.
Then I knew with crickets singing,
My Guide was a cloudless sky in evening.
I looked down and around,
With that impetuous feeling of youth,
To be all you can be,
And see all you can see.
Believing we're all that we need to be,
To conquer this towering task.
Funny thing is,
I wouldn't tell you if you asked.
What these sounds are that fall from my mouth.
So low they can't be heard.
To the loud cries that echo inside.
I feel I'm standing outside my words.
I sit not alone dissecting my fears,
And learned too late my Guide tasted of tears.
And bickering little nations,
And a sentient sensation,
Give me cruel harsh demand,
That I am more than what you take me for,
I am more than what I am.