Full of this stuff

Just waiting for a sign

Watching the years I am watching

The flowers die

The spider within holding on by string

Still I'm all alone hearing this circus type thing

So ask what I think

I'll tell you I think that it's frightening

All of these places to dance and yet we are still

A weightless improbable force has come to enlighten

But why should we listen if there's nothing in it to kill

Often I'm hearing these questions my friend

You're never quite hearing the sounds

But thanks for the voices

These sweet little voices

They follow me all the way down

It seems that we dream hard for peaches and cream and their sweetness

If we are what we eat then why are we not sweet ourselves

And where's this Arcadian gateway once loved by Pandora

Did she bring our demise or be true to the nature of self

Often I'm seeing by goat footed friend

And often I see him in you

Disguised as a song he campaigns for the end

But a few were reserved for the truth

A few were reserved for the truth

I'm finding no comforting words from the priest

But I've found that each season can sing

If she'd survived beyond winter she might've seen the spring

To see that we all make this circus type thing