Crossing the streets in Ricoleta
I ran into Buddha this evening
As vehicles raced through the slit
Between the amber and waiting
I saw him wavering nervously between
Non-violence and indecision
I tried following him
But was cut off by a white limousine
You were driving it with cruel words
And I was falling under your tires
I was dream-walking
And you were dream-speaking
There were no trapdoors as I fell
Just open pits of the dream sequence
(Watching the acrobats perform
On the mean streets of Bario Norte
I wonder if they understand
The true meaning of life
I have given up the ghost
Of the search for true meaning
The meaning is forever lost on me
Even on simple quests
Otherwise I will know to step
Aside from open pits and racing cars)
That is what I think
As I fall through them in Palermo
On my way down I was gifted
A train of thought
Without an engine or a signalman
But with repeating memories of guilt
I boarded the train and waited
For a ride out of the pit of despair
The guard was wearing words in layers
Over the under-garments of meaning
This twilight is the beginning and end
At once of meaning and silence
In La Boca when I ran into Buddha again
He was smiling at my bandaged face
While stuffing his mouth with peanuts
This time I ignored him safely
And followed cruel words and tear ducts
To your painted bedroom window
I ran into Buddha this evening
As vehicles raced through the slit
Between the amber and waiting
I saw him wavering nervously between
Non-violence and indecision
I tried following him
But was cut off by a white limousine
You were driving it with cruel words
And I was falling under your tires
I was dream-walking
And you were dream-speaking
There were no trapdoors as I fell
Just open pits of the dream sequence
(Watching the acrobats perform
On the mean streets of Bario Norte
I wonder if they understand
The true meaning of life
I have given up the ghost
Of the search for true meaning
The meaning is forever lost on me
Even on simple quests
Otherwise I will know to step
Aside from open pits and racing cars)
That is what I think
As I fall through them in Palermo
On my way down I was gifted
A train of thought
Without an engine or a signalman
But with repeating memories of guilt
I boarded the train and waited
For a ride out of the pit of despair
The guard was wearing words in layers
Over the under-garments of meaning
This twilight is the beginning and end
At once of meaning and silence
In La Boca when I ran into Buddha again
He was smiling at my bandaged face
While stuffing his mouth with peanuts
This time I ignored him safely
And followed cruel words and tear ducts
To your painted bedroom window
