We are all the same matter fashioned in patterns.

A pause and a smile to catch his breath.
A sermon about death
rather than religion.

We are not who we think we are.
We are all the last revolution that matters.
You understand, my man,
that our bodies hold us down?
without a soul around, just flesh noise
Christian bodies bound to the ground
where even animals walk with unique sound.

No one's around to hear us,
no man, just the harvested souls of man-kind.
No rewind, but time is inclined to take our minds
through a bustle of bodies.

The battery operated projects of God.
Wind up, let go, and where we'll wander
God don't even know.

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