There's no one exempt from perfect returns
The way of shadows and broken small turns
What of your words; what do they do?
This is the past and it's coming through you
These are your stories and this is your song
She is a saint and she's singing along
When the clatter comes in, hold tight to your head
There's nothing but branches where you were instead
There's no seed exempt from the soil of the earth
The wind and the rain, this place of your birth
We are scattered and grown in this field of the sun
Such are these thoughts and words, this battle begun
We fight our own soul, eternal of age
Scattered with pieces and faces born from rage
We are not of our own determination, yet we fight
This forest burning from ashes and light
Where are we now that we have not been before?
You are as you are, much less to ignore
These are perfect returns, still perfectly free
I am not my questions as you are not me
Though we may argue and wield our knives
I am holding your knife and you're holding my eyes
Baggage and buildings broken and burned
This is called entropy, quietly spoken perfect returns
Too bad about heat and energy lost
This is called life and life has its cost
Bound down broken frown lost in town
Choices are mirrors just scattered around
Even my prayer, as meek as I am
Is voice of the past, the future began
Those of these words are spoken and slight
You have your answers lost in the light
Heavy regret like gravity pulls
Who has the time to count all the skulls?
These are faces, so much less to forget
These are reactions, though not spoken yet