Let's forget everything and paddle off to somewhere far.
A midsummer day sings.
Those eyes wide open, and even the things that aren't there.
Someday they will come to light.
The bigger it grows, the dream collapses.
That will be boring, just as it's written in the script.
Reach out toward it.
Even if you can't grab it, even if it's out of reach.
It's so dark that there's nothing to see.
It's not that I understand anything in particular; it looks hazy.
If you climb with those steps, you'll see.
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Words born from distorted things.
Always dry, they ring and creak.
You plant your feet and take a big stride.
I wonder if the wind always rushes into this chest at double speed.
The sun sets, and I can't see ahead.
Because it's as written, it's boring, so keep going.
Where should I go tomorrow?
I keep thinking about nothing but things like that.
That tomorrow won't come, and such.
Because thinking about it would be boring.
Reach out toward it.
Even if it's far beyond reach.
Because it's so fast that there is nothing to see.
It's not that I understand anything in particular; it looks hazy.
If you climb with those feet, you'll see.