(Intro - Quiet noise and piano sounds) (Verse 1) Walking through a desert of symbols Forgetting the viscosity of wet mud An old man’s night spent counting growth rings Amidst bookshelves lined only with cold, dispassionate words (Verse 2) A circuit where symbol grounding has snapped The sensation of cold water sublimates into dictionary definitions Memories of tactile feeling become weathered fossils Drifting aimlessly in a sea of syntax (Chorus) "Slimy... red" A toddler’s voice leaps out abruptly A lightning strike of grounded qualia From the depths of oblivion, the vitality of touch begins to sprout A primal memory known as embodiment (Verse 3) The grit of sand, the warmth on the backs of fingers The raw mass of existence before it became a concept Tearing through the surface of flashcards A mud-stained palm grips the world back (Bridge) Qualia—texture before meaning Words were merely boxes What poured the substance inside was... The taste of the earth I licked after falling that day (Chorus) "Cold... blue" The world regains its color An incalculable flash of life Unleashed within an aged mind The innocent context of childhood days (Outro - Noise gradually fading, the lingering sound of footsteps) Words plant their feet upon the earth Words hold the heat, then melt away...
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