Crooked

When a could looks like a ship, a dragon wisp on zephyr light,

It yet retains itself - floating water, compact tight.

Puny minds compare with what we know and things we’ve seen.

We are not wrong to do these things. We are not wrong to dream.

Neurons fire, spires form, and castles drift and shift,

Crinkle grey matter, ‘neath our skulls while we’re amis.s

But puny minds compare and cannot reckon with what is

THE BEAST, which runs the world. THE BEAST without which none can live.

Brain – a cloud of rain and mist - it fits the planet ‘‘round.

Lightning neurons fire, ferociously abound!

Thunder, further deafens; engulfed egos drowned.

We are not wrong to lose ourselves; mere putty to the sound.

Where will you let it go?

Would you really want to know?

Where will you let it go?

Would you really want to know?

He gathers from the oceans deep and brings them to the hills.

In bogs and marshes, fogs and haze; and us – proud of our mill!

As if such imitation might us beastly power bring,

But no two eyes will ever see our omnipresent beast.

He hovers, wise, omnipotent and does not have a need...

...but balance. Fawn and fauna, souls in every living thing.

When flood or drought - it pours or starves – balance is restored.

But people die, and plea the gods: “How? Why can this be, Lord?”

In recorded history, there scarce has been reply

Why disasters natural bring death into our lives?

THE BEAST knows better, yes and silently defies!

We are not wrong to lose ourselves! We are not wrong to die!

Where will you let it go?

Would you really want to know?

Where will you let it go?

Would you really want to know?