| Dawn, is a question |
| But morning is a diciplin |
| This is where you begin between |
| A question, and a routine |
| After dark vapors have oppressed our strains |
| And nest in line comes |
| The commuting beat detains |
| Discerning features blurred as you station dismay |
| Unmoving, moving |
| Your natural impulses |
| Played, crowded, connected |
| But so alone millions faint |
| Crackle into line the morning way |
| No one’s ever traveled so far |
| And felt so little progress made |
| As the thousand winds and coloursrushing by outside you try and see free from |
| the trunk bodies |
| But, get caught on branches |
| The window scratches |
| Western vinyl art had been desperately trying to catch some analog |
| I couldn’t get the music out |
| Stagnant third person deserted and in this days the lost families of your |
| lullaby childhood from a distant oasis plays |
| Like our old immortal family so deep away |
| You feel there is something so wrong |
| From where we’ve come the root remains |
| There is something underneath here |
| You, You are crucial |
| You are no common eavesdropper |
| You are the initial impulse |
| You are the second person |
| You are the way forward |
| You are the discovery |
| You have been discovered |
| So you dissect thin air |
| The space between machine and me is not a line of demarcation |
| Because of you, we are connected |
| Because you listen |
| We become conscious |
| Because of this transfer |
| We become aware you repeat us |
| We sent you a sign, and you came down to us |
| Your presence is acknowledged with every moment of this |
| We will repeat you |
| You are the value |
| See for so long we’ve been looking in |
| Digging, hoarding in a desert each alone building little sad sand piles of our |
| own |
| Now we’re scraping into sand archiving ourselves over |
| Disked pictures, profile statuses |
| A creepy hall of grainy mirrors |
| Using all of the sun’s light to reflect us back and make us shimmer |
| And we wonder why we’re parched |
| See, a desert doesn’t need to be a barren land |
| It’s buzzing |
| Hard drives length like every ebb of sand so hearts can drive in, |
| to every open strand |
| Forget your routine solo piles |
| Dig deep in the ground |
| And turn your mirrors out to others around |
| Reflecting, the white light will melt the sand then we can break through |
| To the deep water underground |
| Piles and pyramids will scatter |
| But earth deep rivers remain |
| And we will flow with the family we were once again |
| The death of the third person the other gets maimed |
| If we dig our desert right, we’ll feel that first pulse retained |
| The dawn will always be there… |