But to live means to be here,
In the present, now,
Do you try to bow for the gift of your day,
Then you cede to the morning sun.
Pretending that we live doesn't make us alive.
Life is a story,
Go ahead and find your sight.
But to live means to be here,
In the present, now,
Do you try to bow for the gift of your day,
Then you cede to the morning sun.
Pretending that we see doesn't give us the sight
Pretending that we live doesn't make us alive.
What is it that makes us lose sight,
True sight, of what is real and essential?
I'll take organised patterns of chaos
Over the chaotic organisations of man, any day.
Pretending that we see doesn't give us the sight
Pretending that we live doesn't make us alive.
Pretending that we see doesn't give us the sight
Pretending that we live doesn't make us alive.
The patterns in the carpet do add up though,
You don't have to count.
The patterns in the carpet do add up though,
You don't have to count.
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