But I'm feeling
Is everything under the sun still sacred?
Has all of my empathy abdicated?
That feeling of learning a word, a meaning
And hearing it all of the time;
The fleeting prose
Leaving me up to my own devices
There's something about it that kills me softly while
I'm inconsequentially spinning my own web
Catching the pollen and anything that's left
Wouldn't it be nice to find a place
Your sadness was a privilege you could play in?
Everything under the sun is kin
Everything under the sun is sacred
(It's always been right in front of you)