We are caught in the paralysis of the peoples paradox,
Between our own heresy and the same old orthodox.
For what we thought a cradle has now become a crypt,
For those of us who saw God as a mobius strip.
Amongst reeds and rushes and inter city buses,
Up among the things that the wind brushes.
Never envy the nightingale crow
There are places only those like us can go
Held back by akrasia we are straining for arcadia,
Or avalon or the eden deep inside of there
Everything and all the time somewhere inside your mind
This rain cloud a baptismal font fallin on your hair
For the storms coming soon now, sometime and some how
And no one is ever dry after it passes
We didn’t board the ark but instead braved the dark
And see each other now in lightning flashes.
Only loosely connected now
To this body of weeds
A collection of weird parts
And dandelion seeds