Though the question remains present
Cast in the cold light of day, what is home but a place to lay one's head?
Does the Pilgrim's Way see bliss in a stagnant glimpse
Or is there something to be said for the comfort of the nest?
Because it doesn't seem so clear to me anymore
It feels it's been so long since I left what I once knew and loved
I know it's but a day but it feels it could be aeons
Born to die a thousand times and born to live a thousand more
As stone and silver, I have been here before
I have been here before
All that is, is all there was and all that shall become
The language of matter writ large
All that's written, all that's heard
All that's spoken, all that's word
Is known thus inherently through all as papyrus
And so it was told, and so I told myself
And in that instant I knew
As above, so below
These papyrus limbs, they teach that these arms, they are my own
Yet, I lay no claim of ownership to this temporary form
From thought to pen shall all things be written
From void to form shall all things be told
Ordo ab Chao
All that is, is all there was and all that shall become
The language of being writ large
Semantic keys buried 'neath the mechanistic fragments
Of the workings of the One Thing made manifest
So in flesh is all
In all we see ourselves
Reflected in the hall of sacred mirrors
Who are we to proclaim such division in the workings of the One Thing?
Who are we to feed the yawning of the fissures with great work to be done?
So mote it be
I become the Man of Papyrus Limbs
To do the workings of the one thing
It's all over, my dear
I only wish that I could stay, but really, there's no other way that this could be
It's naught but stone and silver
