My triumphs are all minuscule
In the great grand scheme of fate.
I’m no Zhuangzi, my victory
Is just to be awake.

I’m more a moth than butterfly,
With ichor in my wings.
Or Icarus at candlelight
Who falls to such small things.

Sideways is the only way
I’ve ever known this town,
From in my bed to when I’m dead
And lying six feet down

And when they lay me down one day,
Not all that much will change.
My room has always been my tomb,
My desk a shallow grave.

It’s one thing to be licking wounds,
Another to inflict them.
And it's one thing to have all these thoughts,
Another to depict them.

But lately, I've been getting air,
And laying in the snow,
And looking at the stars at night
And basking in their glow.

My triumphs are all minuscule
In the great grand scheme of time.
But fate sees through all living eyes
And I just see through mine.