Tides of uncertainty and confusion are the only things that make sense
All I want is to drive once more through lonely little cat head creek
so far away I can no longer see the trail that's been swept away
by Alice's little talking broom
I'm at peace with myself
and the walls that guide me out of this place
Im ok with the man and the one who stands outside whistling my name
At moments I can see the kaleidoscope turning into something new and
beautiful
At moments I think god is real
But how can anything so wonderful dip their finger into complete disaster
There is no such thing as perfection
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