Flow like a sunspot, liquid blaze,
Into this shape—we're painted in
Networks of echoing delays—
Into the map I place a pin.
Catapult me to the end,
There to dance like spinning plates—
The light is easier to bend,
But through this prism many fates.
And when you trace the signal flow,
And when you chase the hands of time,
And when you know which way to go,
You'll know reason doesn't always rhyme.
Would you take another way,
Or would you change the road you're on?
Winding serpents through the clay—
How would you know if you were gone?
Bleeding from the veins of then,
Emeralds in your eyes are wired.
Add it up, and count again—
Burning gold and ruby fired.
And when you trace the signal flow,
And when you chase the hands of time,
And when you know which way to go,
You'll know reason doesn't always rhyme.
The carpet of the rainbow twists,
Beneath your slightly moving lips,
And hands will often follow wrists,
But then and there your heartbeat skips—
For falling through the atmosphere,
Meteoric, raining down,
All things come together here—
No vengeance, and no thorny crown.
And when you trace the signal flow,
And when you chase the hands of time,
And when you know which way to go,
You'll know reason doesn't always rhyme.
