Death Comes Your Way
Now you could be a leaf in the breeze or a dust mote.
Or the blood on the blade of a cut-throat.
Or the lamb.
Or a man, stranded in the tide til’ he drifts into the sand.
You could play the victim.
You could be the scammed.
You could be the conquered people of the land.
You can be deceived.
You can be the reed.
You could be the clear cut wood, or the seeds.
Grow roots, stretch out, expand.
Mimic an old man’s lines on his hands.
The rich man’s time slips by like a serpent.
Because it can’t be bought from a merchant.
Stains won’t come out with detergent.
Out, damn spot, out.
But it’s permanent.
So we’re burnin’ it.
Pain, we’re earnin’ it.
Ask why I gaze up to the firmament.
So make haste, a standstill stuck in place.
Stardust, we’re all just stuff in space.
It’s tough to grasp, but we must embrace.
And some will come to wonder “What the fuck is fate?”.
It is or it isn’t, it wasn’t or it was.
We’re dying to rig the system with a switch or a plug.
We tinker and we nudge, it’s an addiction of us.
To put our hands on it and snap a stick in the mud.
But time is infinite, and the clock’s an instrument.
For you to watch it all tick past in increments.
But if there was a dream, then we’re all convinced in it.
All kinds of brilliant minds and simpletons.
I’ve heard it said that the eyes are the windows in.
They shine and dance like bonfires in the winterwind.
Cause’ there’s a light within and if you find you begin to smell smoke.
It’s ’cause I use the rhymes as kindling.
Round and round we go, we got to go off what we know.
Round and round we go, til’ we all end up alone.