All except you will go,
By tens, then fives with nuanced calls.
No sound will flow when this fixture collapses.

A rust will rust and a decay will crust,
Intentions will finally turn to dust,
The way you relate is far to late to fix what's been neglected.

And the birds still sing despite how you feel,
They care not how your head it reels,
While you sit wishing you had just what you got,
It seems so real though it may be not
Because anything you ever thought,
Is where your waking mind is caught,
So you might think that you can escape by sleep to where your eyes are not,
But when you close your eyelids those dreams have got them too.

So you are just one more person crying,
And each piece your release of your own self.
Is freed to need more of the same thing,
It just isn't clear if it will ever be near
Though these sighs they are sincere,
and how you feel is just a mirror,
to what they said you should be aware,
And it makes you so sick to know that you are right there well,
It makes me walk with a cough so it seems like I am sick too.

So what will happen if some tragedy or some victory,
That makes us wail or makes us sing.
Trying to get away or towards something,
That will make this day seem to have some meaning.
And I feel its pull to jump up there,
When it becomes clear that there is nothing to fear but...
This bullet shoots from my mouth with no volume.

So you grab the darkness with your toughest two top teeth,
and bite right through into the obscene,
while the words gush down and the sunbeams gleam,
and it all plays in to how things seem that,
The World Is Bright And Lonely.
The World Is Bright And Lonely.
The World Is Bright And Lonely.

That makes you run to the nearest hill or high place,
And yell out words that just fall from your face,
Like a waterfall in disgrace,
Trying to explain all the time that lies in waste.
Full from everything that has been discarded.

You think to yourself what is the point of even trying,
When all the people here are just living lying.
Lost in a language that makes no sense,
Not even sure what is this present tense and,
What if something doesn't happen before I die?

So you are on your own toenails just naked spinning,
Feeling sick not sure if you are there or here,
or even if the water on your cheeks are your own tears.
And just who that is that is smiling.

Because the only noise your aching ears hear,
Is the sound of something humming clear,
Some humming that rings so sincere and resonates louder,
with all this fear,
Some humming that just won't get quiet.

So you fill up the space with things that will take,
Up the air and still the quake,
The atoms that chafe each other and fast gyrate,
The noise that competes with itself and still vibrates,
Though each gap is full and each space is shaped,
The noise is dulled but you find you are suffocating.

The stereo sings sounds that could connect people in silhouettes.
Flower petals that might reject that bees pollen.
The noise outside that the tires make,
As the sluggish car tries to speed away,
Is just the sound of slow screeching fate,
For there is no gas left in the tank,

What you hear,
It is not here,
It is a sound from somewhere,
Beyond the reach of your ears.
What is right here is nothing.

The carpenters got slivers for hair,
And pastes politics to his chair,
His kneecaps rest when he floats on convicts.

The fortune teller reads rhymes that might yet pass,
and stares into a cloudy glass which my consciousness insists I smash,
For each piece reflects a different past
And relived she thanks me for the certain.

I can see the shape that my shoes make,
The Imprint that will be erased,
My toes are in the future filled by the falling snow,
But my heals are in the past already melted.

In the world that is Bright and Lonely.
In this World that is Bright and Lonely

I expose film to light in the air of the mountain air, to trees and hills and granite stairs I find my way into a room in the deepest valley like a tomb I emerge and carry it overseas on a ship that brought me to my knees from hunger cold fear and doubt to a land of dryness and of drought when the rains finally came I was swept devout by a flood that rung the rain clouds out staring up into an empty sky, there was just blue no gray or white, the waters floated so fast up that the mountain tops became island rocks with just me standing at the top and,

The World Is Bright And Lonely.
The World Is Bright And Lonely.

And what you fear,
It is not here,
It is a sound from somewhere,
That just tricks our ears,
What is right here is everything.
For the sounds you hear,
They are not here,
It's a sound from somewhere,
Beyond the reach of our ears,
What is right here is everything.