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"oh, that I knew where I might find God, that I might come even to God's dwelling, I would lay my case before God and fill my mouth with arguments." -Job 23:3-5


my mind is made up of opposing demands. i'm trading my perception away to buy the latest apps. my love and my hate are feeling fenced in. tame on blog pages that no one's reading.

i'm a hamster in a wheel, i used to be a mouse running from traps. though i eat safely now - i'm not sure if i got a deal perhaps. i remember my youth feral and free, blankets of sweet dresms sleeping outside, full of faith and no money but face it, the ways of the worlds are the bottom line.

i grow old. the swimmer fight the undertow like the string between the cello and the bow. though the player doesn't know the note there's no stopping the show. we're the crumbling earth where the river meets the bend. we're standing on the edge wondering how it's gonna end, as we grow old.

all those magic words (all those magic words), hills and trees and fires and birds, wind and seas and love and birth, it's better in real life so i've heard (it's better in real life so i've heard). all the moving backgrounds of my life (all the moving backgrounds of my life) sit and spectate to pass the time, it's not what i thought but it's alright. i picture me and my pocket knife, i'm sick of that screen to i take a swipe i slice that so-called breeze and trees and all, but on the other side there was nothing but another wall
i should've been a pair of ragged claws but instead i just went back to bed. i should've been a pair of ragged claws!

i grow old. i wipe a little hole in my frosty window, i look out at all the snow and i say "no, no, no, that's much too cold!" i'll stay in bed in my warm flannel robe and just grow old.


brother behemoth you always were the wild one but i know sometime ago we both were our mothers sons. somehow i got lost, i ended up in the wrong crowd, all they do is talk, talk, talk. they love to hear the sound of their own mouths run on. o sister wisdom