I regrow my conscience, regeneratively,
And in this expansion, my mind reminds me,
That I am unconscious, my words are untold,
My secrets and lies remain anonymous hand signs.
Repeating in my mind, a spectrum in full,
It fades into nothing, and ever so sweetly,
Awakens me deeply, and so I arise,
And what is upon me, defies my beliefs.
I look across dark halls, and down by a window,
There sits a high priest, contained by his own words,
He lies in positions I'd never concieve of,
And whispers in tongues I would never have dreamed up.
I reach for the handrail, and walk to the priest and,
When he sees me he disappears into nothing,
I stared at loss then, I stared at the window,
If I said I was dreaming, I'd be a liar and sane now.