Not An Exercise

Let's run until we hit the zone forever
We won't even know what we were worried about
Life will be so fucking zen
And we'll know we're living

If 90% of everything is actually nothing
What the fuck were we doing

People die fast and slow
But they die always and always once

Tell me the thing about running you said again? You weren't running anywhere, really?
You were already there, when you were there?


Suppose heaven is silent
What the fuck were we doing
Pretending to be too good to sing

Do you think we were created to be nothings
Nothinging our way to nothing towards nowhere?

We all know the sky is blue. If I ask you right now, you'll tell me without looking.
But it's not, it's not, God damn you, it's fucking magenta, and we're all still dying.

Maybe God is God because He sees the color of everything at every exact moment, in the whole universe.  And we refuse to believe in Him because we can't convince ourselves to look with Him at our little part.

Birds know God, I know this for a fact.  The tiniest of birds sings a song at the very break of dawn, and we, roll over sleepily, annoyed at the tired darkness.

This tiny bird is bigger than us too, she has seen thousands of miles under the beats of her wings.  She knows the treetops and valleys and chimneys like God knows the hairs on your head.

I'm not saying to fucking fly.  I'm just saying you're here and I'm here and when you see me, hold my hand and know its weight and its ridges and
maybe next time
fuck me with your eyes open