I remember now.
I built a mile high stadium.
Stupid show,
look what Hookah did
in the center of your program.
We’ll always have that voice.

I would murder in words anything I tried to say.
We have our long lists
of hurt that’s been put out there.
It’s how we tax the world.
It’s how we feel better about ourselves.
Would an actor see that?

And if I reduce it to a role,
do I bleed responsibility?
Do I reduce it to an abstraction
in the places I’ve bleeded reality,
the places I’ve burn?

I’ve grabbed the sun,
live on a height of thought and life
I write about all the time.
I see the representation,
the symbol we all are.
It eves my day.
What then?

How is it possible to hurt someone and not know their pain
because you’re a writer of sky dreams?
I communicate with the dead,
have them all around me,
each little life I’ve lit on fire
in the bucket of intimacy.

I don’t think the possibilities of healing surround your room.
You are not stark walking the symbol.
You know the outer lair.
An inside all day long,
you don’t approach that.

You don’t know what it’s like to love the world
in those places you’re sorry,
breathing those words all day long
to a you know you’re heard
way beyond man.
I don’t think you’re aware of the price you pay
when you become aware of man.
The pain you feel humanity.

But on the cutting edge of this
is who I make it up to,
a little boy growing in time.
He represents you.
He represents the world’s eyes,
and I am there for him.

We can take joy on the Earth,
sweet, innocent and kind,
holdin’ our humanity close.
It’s not all a razor blade.
We can get sweet on the Earth,
and when you get home,
you can love the world like a little boy,
and your representation grows.