"Curious Ruminant" lyrics
I count my life in seconds passed
In meeting minutes, hours of glass
Days of quiet watching, thought bubble clouds
Blow through the years, wond'ring aloud
Needle matches spark my fires
Dissenting voices from steeple spires
Ring out across the woody hills
As brief as mad March daffodils
Asking: why am I here?
Answering: why am I anywhere?
Orbiting construct of Jung and Freud
Psycho-dreaming asteroid
Faced with big questions, toss and turn
Unfit to frolic, unconcerned
Asking: why am I here?
Answering: why am I anywhere?
Orbiting construct of Jung and Freud
Psycho-dreaming asteroid
Ruminant pleasures, write them down
Harsh adjective, improper noun
Reconsider each every day
I'll change my viewpoint, shift and sway
No head in pickle, soup or stew
Sit on the fence, enjoy the view
Needle matches spark my fires
Dissenting voices from steeple spires
Ring out across the woody hills
As brief as mad March daffodils
Dead, gone, detached from your reality
Pray, think of me kindly anyway
In wee hours you hear midst the gath'ring gloom
My ghostly whisper: Cogito, ergo sum
In meeting minutes, hours of glass
Days of quiet watching, thought bubble clouds
Blow through the years, wond'ring aloud
Needle matches spark my fires
Dissenting voices from steeple spires
Ring out across the woody hills
As brief as mad March daffodils
Asking: why am I here?
Answering: why am I anywhere?
Orbiting construct of Jung and Freud
Psycho-dreaming asteroid
Faced with big questions, toss and turn
Unfit to frolic, unconcerned
Asking: why am I here?
Answering: why am I anywhere?
Orbiting construct of Jung and Freud
Psycho-dreaming asteroid
Ruminant pleasures, write them down
Harsh adjective, improper noun
Reconsider each every day
I'll change my viewpoint, shift and sway
No head in pickle, soup or stew
Sit on the fence, enjoy the view
Needle matches spark my fires
Dissenting voices from steeple spires
Ring out across the woody hills
As brief as mad March daffodils
Dead, gone, detached from your reality
Pray, think of me kindly anyway
In wee hours you hear midst the gath'ring gloom
My ghostly whisper: Cogito, ergo sum
Writer(s): Ian Scott Anderson
