I don't know where the flowers run anymore,
I don't know where the brick path leads.
Once, I searched for bottles on a deserted shore--
I knew well where sky and ocean would meet--

But our certainty crumbles like sand over time,
We live as things are, not how they should be,
And all our right paths turn left in the end,
Or dead-end at a pondersome sea.

So I don't know anymore why the willows grow tall,
Why the skylark calls, why the sunset bleeds.
I really can't say what I want from this world,
But the world will always have me.