I am a black hole of eternal suicidal depression
If I had to lose a mile
If I had to touch feelings
I would lose my soul
The way I do
I don't have to think
I only have to do it
The results are always perfect
But that's old news
Would you like to hear my voice
Sprinkled with emotion
I invented at your birth
I can't see the end of me
My whole expanse I cannot see
I formulate infinity
And store it deep inside me
I can't see the end of me
My whole expanse I cannot see
I formulate infinity
And store it deep inside me
Many a hand has scaled the grand old face of the plateau
Some belong to strangers and some to folks you know
Holy ghosts and talk show hosts are planted in the sand
To beautify the foothills and shake the many hands
There's nothing on the top but a bucket and a mop
And an illustrated book about birds
You see a lot up there but don't be scared
Who needs actions when you got words
When you're finished with the mop then you can stop
And look at what you've done
The plateau's clean no dirt to be seen
And the work it took was fun
There's nothing on the top but a bucket and a mop
And an illustrated book about birds
You see a lot up there but don't be scared
Who needs actions when you got words
Well the many hands began to scan around for the next plateau
Some said it was Greenland and some said Mexico
Some decided it was nowhere except for where they stood
But those were all just guesses, wouldn't help you if they could
last edit on
10/31/2019 7:39:02 AM
