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We mortals are but shadow and breath,
just human beings
for whom existence is a trial.
We breath too fast and lose the thread,
resembling our shadow,
and the rebus’s left unsolved.
Not quite guilty after all,
we hadn’t started history,
nor innocent, in the end,
as we move it ahead
We mortals are but shadow and breath,
just human beings,
who want suppress idle details, as memory does...

And I then get:
it’s only shadow and breath,
only shadow and breath
the stuff all beings are made of.
And I raise hell
but only shadow and breath it’s only shadow and breath it’s only shadow and breath.

When we have grown tired of awareness
we praise it as a sign of Grace
that shadows are messangers of things
which are, or not,
as true as this very breath
that now pervades
the throbbing lung of darkened earth,
no longer longing...

And I then get:
it’s only shadow and breath,
is this straight shadow on the ground
life because it looks like
life?, a trace.
if only I’d own my breath
and hold on to my shade
I could finally stand, and...
it’s only shadow and breath,
it’s only shadow and breath,
only shadow and breath the stuff all beings are made of.
And I raise hell.
it’s only shadow and breath,
it’s only shadow and breath,
it’s only shadow and breath

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