Wednesday, 18 September 2013

The Flower Called Nowhere

All the small boats on the water aren't going anywhere.
Surely they must be loaded with more than simple matter. 
Floating on top and gracefully tending to the same pole.
All the small boats on the water going nowhere...

Is it true that none of them will ever break free and sail?
Feel the night is made of rocks, the stagnant mass.
Is it true that none of them, will ever break free and sail? 
Break free from the stagnant things left in obscurity.      
Left in obscurity...

All the faces with their eyes closed giving a smile.
Weightless like a body that would vacate to its own light.
Is it true that none of these contented happy faces       
Will not ever hear a cry, won't hear a cry?

Is it true that none of these contented happy faces       
Will not ever hear a cry?
Filled with love not with desire, love not desire...

Is it true that none of these contented happy faces       
Will not ever hear a cry?
Filled with love not with desire, love not desire...

All the small boats on the water aren't going anywhere.
Surely they must be loaded with more than simple matter.
Floating on top and gracefully tending to the same pole.
All the small boats on the water going nowhere...

Is it true that none of them will ever break free and sail?
Break free from the stagnant things left in obscurity...

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