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Thrice
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Treading Paper
All my life I've been treading paper
In the space between the words
And there implied is that I'm
But another body for the birds
Carrying on
Absurd and accidental atoms beating air
Carrying on
Unwitting orphan of an unyielding despair
Linger on just for a moment
Until we can ascertain
If something's wrong with me
Or the assumptions of these self-indicted brains
'Cause I contend that all of this
Is more than just a meaningless charade
Each and every moment
Is a bottle with a message hid away
If anything means anything
There must be something meant for us to be
A song that we were made to sing
There must be so much more than we can see
But all our lives we've been treading paper
In the space between the words
And there implies the thought
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That we are barely more than bodies for the birds
Carry on, they say
That we're just accidental atoms beating air
Carrying on and on
Unwitting orphans of an unyielding despair
Our hearts tell a different story
Our hands feel a different pulse
If anything means anything
There must be something meant for us to be
If anything means anything
There must be something meant for us to be
A song that we were made to sing
There must be so much more than we can see
Something fathomless
Deeper than our pride can dive
Numinous
Higher than our hearts can rise
Transcendent
Further than our thoughts can reach
Immanent
Closer than the air we breathe
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