Verse 2:

 

Crowley used the word magic but I say we call chaos our latent friend.

 

And where I cannot explain

 

understand this bone mother we spoke to,

 

we played cards

 

to save our life.

 

We were trying to lose.

 

But when we were fed, we knew

 

we had hit gold

 

In the black-draft of sweet tooth affection

 

lies beneath the ice flow

 

of who we will choose.

 

Our understanding has become dwarfed

 

as we have grown to multiples and dimples

 

while we walked this earth.

 

The concepts we are given are not enough.

 

We know too much

 

and yet not enough to escape this penury of repetition

 

same faces places. The garden we planted.

 

The path that we know.

 

The grey stone that’s no match.

 

The dance

 

between the known and the unknown

 

into the love that lives in the sky.