Treading Paper

All my life, i've been treading paper in the space between the words
And there implied is that I'm but another body for the birds
Carrion, absurd and accidental atoms beating air
Carrying on; unwitting orphan of an unyielding despair.

But linger on, just for a moment, until we can ascertain if something's wrong with me
Or the assumptions of these self-indicted brains
Because I contend that all of this is more than just a meaningless charade
That each and every moment is a bottle with a message hid away.

If anything means anything
There must be something meant for us to be
A song that we were made to sing
There must be so much more than we can see.

But all our lives, we've been treading paper in the space between the words
And there implied's the thought that we are barely more than bodies for the birds, carrion
They say that we're just accidental atoms beating air, carrying on and on
Unwitting orphans of an unyielding despair.

But our hearts tell a different story
Our hands feel a different pulse.

Something fathomless, deeper than our pride can dive
Numinous, higher than - our hearts can rise
Transcendent, further than our thoughts can reach
Immanent, closer than the air we breathe.