The memories branch out like a Lichtenberg scar.
If you know what they mean,
you can take it thus far:
See the dreams written out on your skin, like tattoos.
Like your words are a play,
see, the dreams are a ruse.
You’re racing a storm. You are not going to win.
You’re at points on a map
where you’ve yet to have been,
And the clouds follow fast at your heels, at your heart-
You don’t want them to, and they never will part.
Lightning strikes us across our heads.
We hit if off like a slap in the face.
Lightning strikes, thunder claps,
Claps as we bow,
Says, “Farewell, well, and well done.”
If you leave things behind, well, they always catch up.
Some are withered and worn,
but prepared to match up.
Send me away in the post, like a letter.
If you never feel better, you’ll never feel better.
Don’t stop for breath.
Don’t pause for thought.
Don’t drop your sword,
when you’ve yet to fight back.
Lightning strikes us across our heads.
We hit if off like a slap in the face.
Lightning strikes, thunder claps,
Claps as we bow,
Says, “Farewell, and well done.”
It rains so hard,
I cannot see.
Pull yourself away from me.
You think I don’t know, but I know who you are;
you’re all over me like a Lichtenberg scar.
You blossom and bloom like a Lichtenberg scar.
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