May I be a thought
Risen from my imagination?
As the mean against myself

As a definition?
Even so knowing, that I am I
And ever will be me

Breathing the air
My ancestors breathed?


Envision a shape
All you can see is just its scape
A blossom is your ceiling

The mold thread
At its loots is rising up to your head
The scarp up seems defeating


And it grows, it grows, it grows, it grows, it grows
And I climb, I rise, I mount, I soar, I go up

And it grows, it grows, it grows, it grows, it grows
And I climb, I rise, I mount, I soar, I go up


But all the same I feel pleased
And desolate at once
Paddling against my own Certainty

Forcing the bale's larynx
Down to its feet, cause I'm standing
On every step in every scion

Within the plant of paradox

Envision a shape

All you can see is just its scape
A blossom is your ceiling
The mold thread

At its loots is rising up to your head
The scarp up seems defeating


And it grows, it grows, it grows, it grows, it grows
And I climb, I rise, I mount, I soar, I go up
And it grows, it grows, it grows, it grows, it grows

And I climb, I rise, I mount, I soar, I go up