Canticle

Cantos and cantons where we relegate collateral damage
Speak freely with no parallels no chances at understanding
From a place with unwritten standards and it ain’t handled well if you can’t fit
9 times outta 10 couldn’t hear you from where I was standing on the bridge
One side ain’t apparent the other carried the glare of mist
Looking down at the canyon, River tearing through every inch
No matter how long I stared couldn’t glance the land at the end
I’m in the place that took McCandless praying luck will carry me with the wind
It seems the more shit you handle the more the arrogance starts to shift
Grow in the understanding of just how many chances that you get
It’s always someone danglin handcuffs across the vantage point as it spins
That or death dancing a tarantell in the distance,
So compelled to give in
In Carabanchel boarded in Quinta del Sordo across the pale from where they jailed every dissident
Comparing my fortune, the family heirlooms and sun’s canticle again
Mother freedom and Father Time always claim the ransom in the very end

Ballon bleu on an invisible hand, the wistful romance
Of carving out a niche in the room, against the chances
Béton brut forms the house as it stands, the towering expanses
Casting down a shadow that never moves, even under the moon sound and transparent
The only demand’s covering terror in the veil of appearing glamorous
It’s not that we lost the character, only that the parameters shifted
It ain’t enough to be enamored with life barricaded with fences
Where every single day’s crammed full of contention, gains only comparable with attrition
Words of wisdom just move on what the common logic say, all until you’re lost with no trace
Sometimes it’s best to cut all losses, pick up any belongings and walk away
No holds barred till it’s all changed
The hardship made a warrior from a golem, a soldat in saudade
Yo
From the Arctic to the Mojave wondering how long is the longing and how far’s the object away
In this constant array of crossroads where’s tomorrow gonna be claimed
Yeah
From the Arctic to the Mojave wondering how long is the longing and how far’s the object away
In this constant array of crossroads where’s tomorrow gonna be claimed