Treading Paper - Thrice

And there implied is that I’m but another body for the birds

Carrion, absurd and accidental atoms, beating air

Carrying on, unwitting orphan of an unyielding despair

But linger on, just for a moment, until we can ascertain…

If something’s wrong with me or the assumptions of these self-indicted brains

Because I contend that all of this is more than just a meaningless charade

That each and every moment is a bottle with a message hid away

If anything means anything

There must be something meant for us to be

A song that we were made to sing

There must be so much more than we can see

But all our lives, we’ve been treading paper in the space between the words

And there implied’s the thought that we are barely more than bodies for the

birds

Carrion, they say that we’re just accidental atoms beating air

Carrying on and on, unwitting orphans of an unyielding despair

But our hearts tell a different story

Our hands feel a different pulse

If anything means anything

There must be something meant for us to be

If anything means anything

There must be something meant for us to be

A song that we were made to sing

There must be so much more than we can see

Something…

Fathomless, deeper than our pride can dive

Numinous, higher than our hearts can rise

Transcendent, further than our thoughts can reach

Immanent, closer than the air we breathe