The world keeps spinning,
Colors whipping off into the stars
As we try and paint each crevice with our own
Each of us saying,
Mine is enough,
Mine is enough.
But the world keeps spinning,
And none of us truly have enough time to paint
Before the color is whisked away.
We watch the stars,
And we think, "Oh, how beautiful is the universe!
How beautiful are the stars and moon!
How beautiful are the colors of nature!"
Building each upon the other,
The colors of our mothers.
The patterns of our fathers.
The gift of our overlapping insight.
I don't really know what the hell this is. Frenzy writing is the best, yeah? :D