people collect a bunch pointless experiences and memories and die over and over and over again. at some point you have to get off the carousel. or not. i guess it doesn't matter.
lyrics
seems you'll always be a slave
to this vessel time blindly engraved
pressures and heedless pressures craved
forgotten by everyone soon in the grave
and only the unlit vermin crawling
and chewing the flesh clean to your skull
are without the vain self-deceit
required for eyes so wide and dull
eyes that once lit your young mother's heart
and watched the blackjack pine dance in gusts
high in the dark mountains of the west
where the red sun burns its dusks
the days were full but you never awoke
circles of meaninglessness never broke
in southern evenings the bullfrogs did croak
but you remained a false god's blind joke
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