These withered hands have dug for a dream. Sifted through sand and leftover nightmares. Over the hill, a desolate wind. Turns shit to gold and blows my soul crazy.
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I move away from this place. In the form of a disturbance. And enter into the world. Like some tiny distortion. . If I surrender. And I don't fight this wave.
I'm an alien from another sphere.. The thing I like about the earth is the range of colors.. Fantastic to mundane. Brilliant to dull.. As I was penetrating the ozone,.
Waking light, it grew from the shadow. Brace yourself to the morning low. Night is gone, long way turning. You've waited long enough to know. . When the memory leaves you.