I hate gates or I hate nothing at all
One tale is true and the other one is tall
Dig a brown apple from a basket in the sky
Hope I hear something false soon before I die
Living in appendices of other peoples books
Guessing at the future from other faces looks
Look into the mirror for illusions and the sea
Your face is full of wonder and mystery
Learning from each other and we don't see nothing at all
Hoping that the wanderers will climb up onto the ball
Love is spinning aimlessly a rolling down a hill
Confusion getting stronger but after the flood I see