May I be a thought
Risen from my imagination?
As the mean against myself
As a definition?
Even so knowing, that I am I
And ever will be me
Breathing the air
My ancestors breathed?

Envision a shape
All you can see is just its scape
A blossom is your ceiling
The mold thread
At its loots is rising up to your head
The scarp up seems defeating

And it grows, it grows, it grows, it grows, it grows
And I climb, I rise, I mount, I soar, I go up
And it grows, it grows, it grows, it grows, it grows
And I climb, I rise, I mount, I soar, I go up

But all the same I feel pleased
And desolate at once
Paddling against my own certainty
Forcing the bale's larynx
Down to its feet, cause I'm standing
On every step in every scion
Within the plant of paradox
Envision a shape...