I'm the flimsiest foundation you could build a dream onto
If you pin all of your hope to me then it will go down when I do
'cause I'm the mere idea even beyond Galatea’s carver
What better way for idea to die than to die as a martyr?
Yet loose ends seem to always be the tightest of the tethers
‘cause the intangible won’t lend over any rope for me to sever
I don’t want to leave my legacy up to just anyone’s interpretation
‘cause nobody—not even I— could decipher my inner narration
Still, I want to jump out of my mind and crawl out of my skin
My sense of self is already dangerously paper thin
It'd be nice to have a place in this world that isn’t just a limbo
Except I don’t want to be known anymore
I think I'll close my windows
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