If You’re the Cause, This is my Effect
If I’m not my clothes or my attitude, am I what I think or am I what I do?
Some people believe, or at least they’re told to; that things and money are the stuff of truth.
When you’re sleeping in your bed before the day begins; are you the same person tomorrow, when you’re trying to fit in?
Maybe life’s a riddle or a reason to rhyme, who the hell am I in my body and mind; living my life inside space and time.
I’m a lover not a fighter; I’ve dreamed myself higher, floating in a bubble that’s been suddenly popped, by those who would stop - The dreamer from dreaming in case he forgot!
How important we are in our jobs and our cars, and the status accorded to a man’s business card. If you’re happy then fine, why do you need mine; applause or admiration for what’s only your truth; what you have is the evidence but it’s certainly not proof!
I know I’m for real; I’m real hard on myself, there’s no point in you if you want to be someone else. I spend a lot of time on the inside of my mind, thinking and feeling, searching to find – your dreams are different they exist outside; I’ll leave you to yours if you leave me to mine.
Some of us are sons and some of us daughters, some like the chaos and others need order; a life of lessons is your reason to grow; no-one else will learn from your I told you so’s.
I want to let it out and let it all loose, take the time sometimes to get myself juiced; turn it right up and play it out loud, the rules were made up so just figure it out.
Which ones to break, there’s no rules for love – you got to do what you can, whatever it takes; to try and survive amongst the counterfeits and fakes.
They’ll bring you illusions, sell you good times and absolution. Where it begins I guess it will end, and in the middle we’ll try to pretend.
That how is the question and what is the answer; and how to control it is all that matters. Physics and science - cause and effect, broadband speeds give little time to reflect.
They day you were born, like any other baby, with a blank slate ahead and a life as a maybe. The dreams, the consciousness, our ability to lie – how is not the question the question is why!
Why not nothing, nothing at all – why can’t we live without the hating and wars – is all of the beauty contained in our heads, nothing but perceptions of our civil unrest. There be thinkers and drinkers, a thousand schools of thought, there’s ruthless ambition, political discourse.
It’s all a matter of fact, its subjective abstract, entirely depends on the meanings attached. They taste bittersweet, any kinds of belief; for the comfort they bring is only temporary relief.