grasping at the sands of time reveals
sliding through your hands
living all your life so filled with fear
you gather all you can and hold it near
carving up the land as you make it clear
who can have what from there or here
thinking that your plan is so ideal
losing true sight of what is real
born into their perfect shame
fixed upon their tiny flame
as the tides rise upon the wheel
lines in the sand will disappear
you will wake up and sense the feel
you'll have a chance to lift the veil
dissolving insubstantia as you exhale
rising up above as your essence prevails
born into their perfect shame
fixed upon their tiny flame