It comes clean, genuine
And I may have wondered what it is
But the question... Well, the answer was in the question itself
There is a shout
The shout cuts the light, explores the matter and overflies the ocean
There is a lack of space where the tides float in absolute perfection
There's black much deeper than fear
Oscillating in a perpetual movement
The kite was flying, cut the string
Can't amend, is that the end?
What we've become ends here
What we've become, we become every time
It's killed and born in the same single act
The shot in the dark
The flare in the room
We're witnesses to every duality
We're perceptors, accumulators
There's a pain I can't describe
And that's already a limit