an angel speaks to you from a crack in the clouds
she says go pinch yourself and take a good hard look in those eyes
yeah well you might have aged but you'll still be the same
in birds lie hymns in mysterious ways so you interpret singsong in a roundabout way
and you'll never change you only got close to the light
you will always stay the same after just catching a glimpse
'they parked me in! they stitched me up!'
spoken by the man with keys in one hand and a sewing needle in the other
there's no big picture when it comes to this threading
the threads cascade jacquardedly outward from every feasible aspect
the righteous and endless tapestry with frames and borders
museum glass and dust and wall hangings and plates and plaques and statuettes and statements
intentions and inflections and irrepressible reprehension flows dayless and nightless
into and abyss off evergrow and evershrink
can't even look at the long nor the short of it
an attempt to understand it is insurmountable
to a degree that it's naivety is as beautiful as it is laughable