LYRICS:

Exposition.
A comprehensive explanation of an idea,
or the act of making something known.

And yet, the ocean parted her lips to drink the steel mask of dawn. I witnessed the iridescent carved face as it rose from its own mirage. The sky, the great refractor, painted her skin with a fiery smile. I rubbed my eyes… The sun was not meant to appear for another five minutes. I was stunned, confused. What was this strange fiction? Was the oracle wrong? Oh, Goddess of glimpses, your twisted elixir of mixed wisdom is, if nothing else, consistent. Nothing is a given.

Two.

The boy was my lover. Bent like a straw in the water. Did I stutter?
His kisses consisted traversing from glass to the air I exist in. Screens and transistors.
In this shift in medium, relay occurs. The thought falls obedient, retraces hurt.
The arc of a memory, such that it touches my vision above where my lover has written.
His kisses were felt as a pulse on the lips, but electron repulsion kept particles fixed-
at a distance. So, I hunger for truth. But knowledge brought losing the softness of youth.

Three.

Development.
A specified state of growth or advancement,
or a new stage in a changing situation.

The sunlight tracks acolytes of stunned sight.
Why are glimpses of delicate minutes supressed?
We exist as meandering metal and darkness.
Falling flocks over the Goddess.

Confused, I screened kisses and refracted horizons.
His knowledge is strange. I relay five minutes.
Retrace the stutter. Bent above meant nothing.
Kneel, for such thought consisted of its own decided hiding.

His own slow resistance, written.
Twisted obedient boy, an inside vision from glass.
It was youth. Birds of paradise, quite fixed, appear given.
The arcminutes of fiction were moving, but their image was stolen.

Disordered water where skin carved a borrowed transistor.
The wrong oracle, the mirage, painted light with hunger.
At dawn’s angle, sun mask repulsion existed as oceans.
In iridescence, some lips avoid distance like particle elixirs.

Fiery straws longing for parted steel drink.
Losing mixed feeling and longing the curve.
His dark eyes stole the horizon.
Electron wisdom kept a pulse stunned in the truth felt by thinking.

For it is the observer who decides which is real and which is illusion.
We choose them. We choose.

Four.

Reconciliation.
The restoration of a relationship,
or the act of making dissonant ideas compatible once more.

And yet, the ocean parted her lips to drink the steel mask of dawn. I witnessed the iridescent carved face as it rose from its own mirage. The sky, the great refractor, painted her skin with a fiery smile. I rubbed my eyes. The sun was not meant to appear for another five minutes. I was stunned, confused. What was this strange fiction? Was the oracle wrong? Oh, Goddess of glimpses, your twisted elixir of mixed wisdom is, if nothing else, consistent. Nothing is a given.

Five.

The sun is our lover. Bent like a straw in the water. Did I stutter?
His kisses are distant. In moving from void to the air we exist in, they feel some resistance.
In this shift in medium refraction occurs. Light kneels obedient and tracks out a curve.
The arc of the angle is such that it touches horizon above where our lover is hiding.
His kisses are witnessed by subjects with eyes. Subjective gazes, subject to subtlety.
But perhaps our desperate hunger for light, is what stole these kisses so early and bright.

Six.

Both light and empty,
equidistant. And the sharp
self, image distant.


"You alright Sami?"

"Yeah, I’m good."

"Are you practising?"

"Err… kind of."