45*21

oh great and shifting paradigm
I bow down amongst your weed
I've seen your stories told
and the sands they were all gold
fashioned in these metals one by one
every grain of sand, fought for ideas in the loam
they keep themselves well hid
the gavel comes down on justice all alone
skis a priestess with a scepter
out on the deck the vista shown
there are many levels to this house
the ghost of objects and grass grown
needles in sidewalks crammed between ideas
cataleptic and fantastic on there own
I design my own automobile and my airplane flies low
among the purple weeds that never grow
the life I spent in half sleep I rent
the gravel of the bones they will not grow
you watch the smultz towering inferno of unborn cults
dazzling display in warm rain
I give you my hat,a multi-colored rat